


only one my arms will ever hold

by wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Bonding, Bottom Steve Rogers, Claiming Bites, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Marking, Mating Rituals, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Riley/Sam Wilson, Mythology - Freeform, Past Torture, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Scenting, Sharing Clothes, Werewolf Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most stories about Bucky Barnes and his questionable and sometimes terrible life choices, this one starts because he decides not to listen to Natasha’s cryptic and mostly annoying advice.</p><p>He decides <i>not</i> to listen, and he hunts down and kills a deer during that month’s full moon run with his pack and <i>leaves its dead body on Steve Rogers’s front step</i>. </p><p>Steve, the man Bucky kind-of-possibly-maybe-absolutely is in love with. </p><p>Bucky would try to smother himself after that one, but he’s learned that werewolves are hard to kill. </p><p>*</p><p>Or: the four stages of courting Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. provide

**Author's Note:**

> so here i am with the first part of what turned out to be my camp nano project! based on the au prompt: “you need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.” but with some slight modifications.
> 
> many thanks to acuisle for cheerleading and talking to me about scents and giving me about a hundred different ideas for this werewolf bucky au. thanks also goes to acuisle once again and to whatthehale for beta-ing and making sure mistakes were fixed.
> 
> title from the richard rodgers and lorenz hart song ' _blue moon_ '.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for this chapter contain: a dead deer, blood, mentions of past torture as following what happened to bucky in the first captain america movie. oh, and the rating will be going from 'teen' to 'explicit' next chapter.
> 
> although the warnings might scare you, this has been described to me as "the most curtain fic!!!", so you can expect a lot of fluff and domesticity from it.

Like most stories about Bucky Barnes and his questionable and sometimes terrible life choices, this one starts because he decides not to listen to Natasha’s cryptic and mostly annoying advice.

He decides not to listen, and he hunts down and kills a deer during that month’s full moon run with his pack.

He decides _not_ to listen, and he hunts down and kills a deer during that month’s full moon run with his pack and _leaves its dead body on Steve Rogers’s front step_.

Steve, the man who has so much power enveloped in his small body that he could pretty much wish Bucky out of existence if he wanted to.

Steve, the man Bucky kind-of-possibly-maybe-absolutely is in love with.

Bucky would try to smother himself after that one, but he’s learned that werewolves are hard to kill.

 

****

  
“Are you running tonight?”

Bucky glances at Natasha, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly standing on end. “You know I am.”

It’s a blue moon night, the first one in three years, and Bucky can already feel the call of it in his bones. His joints itch, his skin seeming too tight for his body, and he knows that if he smiles, he’ll show teeth a little longer and sharper than usual.

There’s never been a full moon in which he isn’t found running through the woods with his pack: Dum Dum at his heels, Gabe and Dernier snapping back and forth, and Monty and Morita trying to keep them all from getting themselves stuck in a ditch. They’re not what one would call a traditional pack, not that any of them give a damn. They’re not a family unit ― in fact, none of them are related to each other ―, but they’re very much brothers in arms, willing to lay down their lives for the other.

And when you’re part of a pack, Bucky’s learned that that’s what counts: not blood ties, but what you’re willing to do for each other.

Bucky and the guys are not the only ones to enjoy the seclusion of the trees at night, but they’re certainly the loudest ones to do it whenever the moon is big and bright in the sky. That’s why they were dubbed the Howling Commandos by the townsfolk, much to Bucky’s embarrassment, Dum Dum’s absolute delight, and everyone else’s amusement.

Natasha hums at his answer, low and unassuming, and Bucky isn’t fooled for a second.

“What do you know?” he asks, tonguing at his sharp teeth as they walk.

Natasha just looks back at him, steady and calm, and Bucky finds himself ducking his gaze after a few seconds. He focuses on his feet, his black combat boots scuffed to hell and well worn, until he the tight feeling in his chest goes away.

Bucky doesn’t know what kind of creature Natasha is, but he knows that she’s _not_ wolf. He knows that she’s old, older than him, older than the earth under their feet, maybe. He knows that she doesn’t smell like _prey_ , her scent being of fire and forest and death. He also knows that he always gets the sudden urge to roll down and bare his throat to her whenever she glances at him with this particular sharp and considering look in her eyes.

“I know many things, James,” Natasha tells him, and her lips twitch up when she sees Bucky roll his eyes. “It’s a blue moon tonight.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Bucky says, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the tension. “What of it?”

“You know what they say about blue moons.”

“That something rare will happen?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe that just means we’ll go a full moon without Dum Dum eating something he shouldn’t.”

Natasha shakes her head at him, her head hair spilling over her shoulder like blood. “Alright, then. Just don’t come crying to me later, because I _will_ say ‘I told you so’.”

Bucky huffs, tiling his head up to look at the night sky. The night is warm and silent between them as they walk the short path to Nat’s home, a peculiar two-story house near the far edge of the woods.

“I’ll be careful,” Bucky concedes. “Not that I even understood what you want me to be careful _of_.”

“Good,” Natasha says. “You should always listen to what I have to say.”

“Because you’re always right?” Bucky asks dryly.

“Because I’m not often in a mood to help others,” Natasha replies. “I prefer eating them.”

Bucky blinks, finding himself once again wondering if Natasha is joking or telling the truth.

“Okay,” is all he says. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a hawk perched on the fence surrounding Natasha’s house, and in between a blink and the next Bucky finds himself staring at, well. At a _naked_ Clint.

“Aw, clothes,” Clint sighs, looking down at himself.

“How you manage to forget you never have clothes after you shift is _beyond_ me, pal,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

Clint is…

Well, _Clint_.

He’s another shifter like Bucky, albeit one who doesn’t turn into a wolf, who stumbled into town around five years ago with a quiver of arrows on his back, a bow in his hand, and bruises covering his face. That wasn’t unusual, in and of itself, but he surprised everyone when he asked after Natasha by name.

Bucky still hasn’t gotten the whole story on how they met, even though it’s obvious to everyone with a nose what they are to each other.

Clint _does_ smell like prey, sometimes, when he’s flying over Bucky and dropping pebbles on his head. Bucky would never eat him, though, because Clint belongs to Natasha and Natasha to him, and Bucky has no doubts that if anyone ever touched a feather on Clint’s wing, they’d meet an unfortunate end.

Clint shrugs, running a hand through his short hair. “I don’t usually do it outside. And at home it’s not a problem.”

“I’ll say,” Natasha pipes up, eyes taking in everything that is Clint.

Bucky groans, trying to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t get a nose full of _ClintandNat_ and how hot they are for each other.

“I’ll be going now.”

Natasha turns to him, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “Remember what I said.”

“About what?” Clint asks, looking from Natasha to Bucky and back again.

“Blue moons,” Bucky explains, and nods at Natasha. “I got it, Nat.”

Natasha gets on the tips of her toes and places a kiss on his cheek. “Have fun tonight and don’t kill something bigger than your stomach. Meat shouldn’t go to waste.”

Bucky makes a face at her and says his goodbyes, sticking his hands in his pockets as he enters the woods and starts walking to the small clearing where he and the guys always meet before runs.

He can still hear Clint and Nat behind him, faint but clear; Nat humming under her breath while Clint sings, “ _You saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own…_ ”

 

****

 

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“I’m not a Sergeant anymore, _Aloysius_ ,” Bucky says, baring his teeth in a smile.

And Bucky isn’t, hasn’t been one since 1945, after he and his unit were captured by enemy soldiers and turned prisoners of war, no matter how much his old army brothers still like to think otherwise. It was there, in a cold lab with filthy cells, the smell of blood and horror thick in the air, that’s where they were made, unmade, and turned into what they are now: wolves in human skin.

“You’ll always be Seargent to us,” Dum Dum points a finger at him. “And don’t call me Aloysius. It’s Dum Dum for you.”

Gabe rolls his eyes and knocks shoulders with Dernier, muttering something in French that by now Bucky recognizes as, “ _The idiots are at it again_.”

“At least they aren’t throwing things at each other,” Monty says, lips forming a faint smile.

“I bet ten bucks Bucky will try to shove Dum Dum into the lake before the night is over,” Morita pipes up, grinning when Dum Dum snaps his teeth at him.

And that’s Bucky’s old army unit right there, ladies and gents.

The men he’s fought alongside through hell and back, from cities of ashes and frigid snow to small clearings and the green dark woods.

It’s been seventy years, and Bucky still both loves them to pieces and wants to strangle them to death.

“I’ll cover that bet,” Gabe nods.

“And I’ll be running all by my lonesome tonight if you mugs don’t shut the hell up,” Bucky tells them, narrowing his eyes.

Morita and Gabe just grin, while Dernier blows Bucky a noisy kiss.

“Who’s leading?” Monty asks, pushing up from the tree he was leaning on.

“It’s Gabe’s turn,” Bucky replies.

When it’s said that their pack isn’t traditional, it’s because they _really_ aren’t.

Dernier was the first one to realize what was happening, back during the war, after they were rescued and sent back to the front lines. He was the one with stories about _monstres_ and _loups garous_ and _la pleine lune_. He was the one who, with Gabe’s help, explained to them what it meant that their injuries were gone after a few hours, their reflexes were sharper, their tempers quicker to rise.

If Bucky could erase those first few months after turning ― hell, if he could erase the entire time he spent at war ― he would. It wasn’t fun, trying to survive not only the horrors of war, but the knowledge that came with the possibility that he might, at some point, lose control and kill some of his best friends.

Gabe was the one who got it first, how to quiet down the creature inside them. He taught them how to turn their focus inward and calm themselves, to trust their instincts when it told them to run or fight or kill.

Bucky still remembers the first time one of them shifted into a full wolf, while they were hunkering down in the ruins of a small school, huddling for warmth and waiting for orders. It was Morita, who suddenly went from being a man to being a very fluffy and warm wolf with a gray coat.

Bucky is not proud to say he almost shot him in the ass.

They don’t follow the traditional pack structure, with an alpha leading the others. They fall back to their army ranks, to the way they used to work together when they served. Neither of them ever wanted to change that dynamic, to fight for dominance, not when they worked so well as they were.

Although Bucky suspects that if they _did_ , either he or Dum Dum would come out on top. He figures maybe that’s why they bicker so much, why they chase each other during the full moons, one always trying to outrun the other.

That’s also one of the reasons why, during each full moon, a different member of the pack leads the run. That serves to keep them on their toes, to learn how to work together, to never follow the same paths or fall into predictability.

Wolves need a challenge and this keeps them entertained.

“Are we ready to do this, fellas?” Dum Dum asks, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

They all nod and start to undress, each taking the time to fold their clothes and sticking their belongings in impermeable duffel bags. They’ll leave those in the clearing, since anyone who comes around will know better than to mess with things covered in the scent of wolves. Later, they’ll all head out to the small cabin Bucky owns, and make themselves human again.

Bucky slips his dog tags off from around his neck, because he might not be a soldier anymore but some habits are still hard to break. And he has to admit that there’s a certain comfort in having the warm metal against his skin, tucked in between his chest and shirt; it means that he lived, that he survived, that he came out on the other side still standing.

“Nat said to be careful tonight,” Bucky tells them, letting his toes sink into the warm earth under his feet.

He already feels more grounded, knowing that in just a few minutes he’ll be able to let go and _run_.

“Why?” Monty asks, frowning a little.

“ _Une lune bleue, bien sûr_ ,” Dernier says, looking up.

They all follow his gaze, the moon and stars visible in between the trees, looking especially bright this far out on the woods.

“Well,” Monty says slowly. “We should probably listen to her. It’s not often that Miss Romanova offers advice.”

“Not to _you_ , maybe,” Bucky snorts.

Fuck knows that half of everything Natasha says to him is an advice hidden in between cryptic messages or a wrapped up folk tale.

“Okay,” Gabe nods in assent. “I’ll try not to run you guys ragged.”

Dum Dum laughs, loud and mocking. “As if you _could_ , Private Jones.”

Gabe just looks at him and grins a slow grin, his teeth sharp and his eyes gold, and a second later they’re staring at a black wolf. Gabe tilts his head back and howls, not waiting for them before he turns around and takes off into the woods.

Bucky howls and jumps and shifts mid-air, touching the ground not with his feet but with his paws, and runs after Gabe. His packmates follow, each with a howl of their own, the thread that connects them to each other, by choice of their own, shining bright in Bucky’s mind.

Pack ties, stronger as strong as their love for each other.

And Bucky might not have chosen this for himself, but he wouldn’t give up his wolf and his brothers for anything in the entire world.

 

****

 

Things are simpler as a wolf.

What matters to Bucky is pack and prey and not much else. The freedom to run, to hunt, to protect those who are his.

He doesn’t have to worry about Dernier mixing herbs and eventually blowing something ― or himself ― up, doesn’t have to worry about Dum Dum trying to seduce one of the _rusalki_ and drowning, doesn’t have to worry about Morita accidentally offending the _kitsune_ he’s seeing. He doesn’t have to worry about what Natasha is and if she’s serious when she says she might eat someone, doesn’t have to worry about Sam Wilson and how he and his Riley are dealing with Riley’s broken wings and slow healing, but most of all, he doesn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers.

Or, more precisely, he doesn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers and and just _how much_ Bucky is in love with him.

 

****

 

Steve Rogers is, for the lack of a better word, _intimidating_.

One would think otherwise, at first glance, if going by his appearance: he’s small, barely 5’4’’, about ninety pounds soaking wet, with big blue eyes and light blond hair and pink lips. It’s when you go past that, though, when you take in the runes and sigils and drawings inked and carved into his skin that you realize he’s a lot more dangerous than he looks.

It takes a lot to anchor magic in a body, and Steve has paid the price in more ways than one.

It’s one of the reasons why he’s somewhat sickly, the magic and power building to a point where it turns itself back on him.

His mother, Sarah, used to be one of the best healers in town before she passed. Steve has her penchant for magic, has the call in his blood, but his talents lie in protection instead of the healing of others. Not that Steve can’t heal someone if he tries, but his real power shines through when he’s protecting, defending, safeguarding.

Bucky would mistake him for a wolf, if it wasn’t for the sharp scent of blood and earth and rain that wraps itself around Steve like a blanket.

Steve might be tiny, but he’s _powerful_ and _fierce_ and Bucky is helplessly in love with him.

 

****

 

Natasha is the one who introduces them.

They’re at _Smoke & Lightning_, one of the bars in town that caters to those supernaturally inclined, which is run by Thor. Thor is tall and broad and smells like lightning, and he’s the only one Bucky’s ever met who trumps Natasha in age.

Bucky’s sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of Asgardian mead. Human produced alcohol doesn’t do anything for him anymore, hasn’t since he tried to get drunk in 1945 when they heard the war was over and found out he couldn’t. The Howlies ― Dum Dum would have a field day if he found out that was what Bucky called their pack in his head ― are sharing a table, and Bucky can hear Dum Dum’s loud barks of laughter and Dernier’s French accent over the music playing in the background.

The air shifts when they arrive, Natasha’s scent of fire and forest and death that’s so familiar to Bucky filling his nose. Clint is with her, his arm around her shoulders and scratch marks running from his wrist up to his elbow.

Bucky’s learned not to ask.

With them is Sam Wilson and his partner Riley, both shifters like Clint, although different kinds of birds. _Falcons_ is what they are. Bucky’s run into Sam before, since he’s good with calming draughts and wolves are known to need them.

They’re not the ones who catch Bucky’s attention.

It’s the small man standing in between Natasha and Sam, his eyes impossibly blue even from a distance. Bucky can see the runes carved around his wrists, the sigils on his knuckles and the backs of his hands, the tattoos inked on his forearms and neck and undoubtedly covering the rest of his body, the colors shifting and swirling and _moving_ right over his skin. Bucky doesn’t have to scent the air to know what kind of power is hidden beneath those scars and drawings.

It takes a very special person to be able to tattoo and support living art on their body without being consumed.

“Hello, James,” Natasha greets him with a kiss to his cheek, her hair tickling his jaw. “Did you start any fights yet?”

Bucky makes a face at her, glancing away from the little guy. “I don’t _start_ fights.”

At least not anymore.

He’s pretty sure the last fight he started was back in 1944 when they were still in Austria, trying not to die, and Dum Dum ate the last chocolate bar Bucky had been saving for when they got out of that hell.

“Sure,” Natasha says, lips curling up.

“I _don’t_ ,” Bucky insists. “I only finish fights after somebody else starts them in the first place.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now, Barnes?” Sam asks, grinning.

Bucky growls a little, deep in his throat.

Sam doesn’t seem bothered, just grins even wider.

Bucky wonders when they stopped being afraid of him.

He figures hanging out with Natasha probably has something to do with it.

“That’s a good argument. I probably should write it down.”

Bucky lets his eyes fall on the man again, and suddenly he has this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that he should never let him out of his sight.

“ _Steve_ ,” Sam says, pointing a finger at him. “No.”

“ _Samuel_ ,” Steve replies, tone dry. “Yes. It’s not my fault some people are jerks.”

“You got that right, pal,” Bucky mutters, but apparently loud enough for Steve to hear.

Because Steve turns, a smile playing at his lips, his eyes glinting. He offers Bucky a hand. “I’m Steve Rogers, I don’t think we’ve met.”

They haven’t.

Bucky definitely would have remembered him.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, catching Steve’s hand in his. Steve’s palm is warm and dry against Bucky’s own, and Bucky can feel the ridges of the scars carved into Steve’s hand. “It’s nice meeting you.”

Bucky can also feel his skin tingling, right on the points where they’re touching.

He thinks it might be the effect of being near someone with so much magic, but somehow he doubts it’s just that.

 

****

 

It happens slowly.

The falling in love part.

They're friends, at first, even though Bucky finds himself attracted to pretty much everything that is Steve Rogers.

They meet at _Smoke & Lighting_ at least once a week with all of their friends, and they drink, and they talk. Bucky gets to know Steve at the same time he gets to know Sam and Riley better, all of them becoming fast friends. He listens to stories about Steve’s mother, stories about Steve’s love for colors and art, stories about Steve’s reckless behavior and heart of gold ― the last one maybe being an add-on on Bucky’s part, but no one needs to know. The rest of Howling Commandos take a shining to Steve, because stupid bravery and brave stupidity calls to them, and Steve has both in spades.

Steve fits, in between Bucky’s pack and Bucky’s pack of friends. He fills in the gaps in Bucky’s life that Bucky didn’t even know were there, with dry humor and quick wit and hot temper.

Steve is also _ridiculously_ good at playing darts.

Which, against not only a wolf but also a former sniper, is saying a lot.

“Are you cheating?” Bucky asks him after Steve’s hit bullseye for the fifth time in one night.

“I’d _never_ ,” Steve drawls, doing a bad job of convincing Bucky otherwise.

“Is this payback for bugging you about not knowing how to dance?” Bucky tries again, scratching at the back of his neck.

Bucky thought it was adorable, if he’s being honest, when Steve admitted to never learning how to dance after Natasha asked him if he’d do the honors of accompanying her to the dancefloor. He even had to bite back an offer to teach him on the spot, knowing it’d do him no good to be that close to Steve when all their friends were near and would figure out Bucky’s real feelings in a hot second.

“Now why would you think that?” Steve grins, teeth white against the red of his lips.

He throws another dart, never taking his eyes off Bucky.

It hits the center of the target, just like they both knew it would.

 

****

Bucky is pretty sure that’s when it starts.

And from the deep inhales he hears from Dum Dum, Gabe, Dernier, Morita, and Monty, he knows that’s when they figure it out.

You know, if judging by the way they start smiling at Bucky and Dum Dum waggles his eyebrows at him.

Bucky doesn’t even have to breath in too deep to know he smells like a besotted idiot.

Natasha is the worst of them, though.

She just pats him on the cheek on their way out and looks immensely pleased with herself.

 

****

 

Bucky falls deeper and deeper the more time he and Steve spend together, the more they get to know each other.

Bucky sometimes asks himself if that was Natasha’s plan all along.

But he never actually _asks_ _her_.

 

****

 

Things are simpler as a wolf.

What matters to Bucky is pack and prey and not much else. The freedom to run, to hunt, to protect those who are his.

He doesn’t have to worry about his pack getting into too much trouble and he doesn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers and how much Bucky loves him.

Or that’s what Bucky thinks.

 

****

 

Full moons always end with Bucky’s mouth full of blood.

They hunt as a pack, and they kill as a pack, and they share the spoils after they’ve run themselves to their wolves’s satisfactions.

This full moon is no different, except for the ways in which it is.

 

****

 

It’s not a conscious decision.

Bucky doesn’t mean to take down a deer alone, and he doesn’t mean to snap at the others when they come near, and he doesn’t mean to drag the carcass across the woods, leaving a trail of blood and guts behind.

It’s just what ends up happening.

One would call it instinct.

Bucky will tell himself he just lost control for a night.

Because that’s the only conceivable reason he can come up with that justifies him leaving a dead deer in front of Steve’s front step, its belly ripped open, the blood oozing slowly and thickly onto the wooden steps.  
 

****

 

Natasha told him what they say about blue moons.

But no one ever explained to Bucky the ways of werewolf courting rituals.  
 

****

 

“Morning, James.”

Bucky groans, his entire body sore and tired in a way that means he had a good night. He stretches, his joints cracking and muscles pulling, his mouth opening in a yawn. Only for him to snap it back shut with a grimace.

If there’s one thing he dislikes about being a wolf, it’s this. His breath smells like roadkill and his mouth tastes worse.

He opens his eyes to see Natasha sitting on a chair by the bedroom window, her legs tucked under her, her eyes on him.

She’s smiling.

That’s not good.

“Time issit?”

Natasha points to the clock on her bedside table, a miniature red horse sitting on top of it. The numbers read 3:25 PM.

“Did I come here last night?” Bucky asks, sitting up and shaking his head.

Memories of the night of the full moon are always a little blurry the morning after, and it usually takes Bucky a while to set everything right in his head.

“Out of your own free will,” Natasha says.

Bucky nods at that. It wouldn’t be the first time he ended up in Natasha’s place after a run, but it also wouldn’t be the first time Natasha dragged him there.

“Why are you smiling?”

Natasha’s smile widens, even though she’s not showing any teeth. She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. “What do you remember?”

Bucky glares at her, but still makes an effort to recall what happened last night.

“Roughhousing with Dum Dum, running after Gabe, stopping Dernier from eating one of those poisonous berries,” Bucky stops, licks his lips, grimaces again. “I killed something.”

“You did,” Natasha confirms. “Even after I told you meat shouldn’t go to waste.”

Bucky frowns. “But it didn’t. We always eat our kills.”

“Oh, really?” Natasha says, and now her smile is followed by a brief flash of teeth.

That’s when Bucky knows he’s in trouble.

“What do you know?”

“I know many things, James,” Natasha tells him again. “One of them being that you _didn’t_ eat your kill last night.”

Bucky is afraid to ask, but he forces himself to. “What did I do with it?”

“You left it,” Natasha starts, “in front of Steve Rogers’s house.”

Bucky isn’t proud of the choked up dying wolf noise he makes.

He’s just glad Natasha is the only one there to witness it.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bucky groans, throwing himself back into Natasha’s guest bed. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I _didn’t_.”

“You _did_.”

“I _didn’_ ―,” Bucky stops.

The memory of him catching the scent of _bloodearthrain_ in the woods, the want to _run after it_ , the stronger urge to kill for them and show them how good at it Bucky is, how much he can provide ― now it’s all very clear in his head.

Bucky knows his face is red. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and neck, hot and fast.

“Fuckin’ _hell_ ,” Bucky curses, appalled at himself. “I _did_.”

“I told you,” Natasha says, and then adds, “ _so_.”

Bucky whines.

And again, he’s not proud of it, but at least Natasha is the only one there to witness it.

“Nat,” Bucky swallows, turning his head to look at her, his long hair getting in his eyes. “I need you to kill me.”

“I won’t,” Natasha replies. “You’re fun. You make me laugh. You’re my friend. I can’t say that about a lot of beings.”

Bucky lets himself feel a rush of warmth at Natasha’s words, knowing just how much truth there is them.

Natasha was alone, before she came to town. And for the first few years of Natasha living at the edge of the woods, people and creatures alike weren’t kind. She was a stranger, and she was ancient, and she smelled of death and old bones.

Bucky didn’t let that stop him.

 

****

 

He’s as curious as a wolf as he is as a man, even more so. The first time he appears at Natasha’s home after a full moon, instead of heading to his cabin with the others, she opens the door for him and lets him sleep on her couch. Then in the morning, she makes him clean her house and cook her breakfast as a thank you for her hospitality.

Bucky comes back the next full moon.

And the one after that.

Eventually they get to talking. Or, more precisely, eventually Natasha starts telling Bucky old stories and lets Bucky ask her questions without giving him one of her _looks_. The ones that make Bucky think he’ll wither and die if he stares back at her for too long.

“Why do questions bother you so much?”

“Not every question has a good answer,” Natasha says in between a bite of chicken and another. “And the more you know, the older you feel.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath and nods. “I get it.”

"We're not so different, you and I,” Natasha tells him, throwing a small chicken bone, now clean of meat, in her plate.

"Yeah?" Bucky asks.

He's not so sure he agrees.

Natasha shrugs. " _There are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up._ "

Bucky’s learned Natasha likes her stories. Even if sometimes they don’t sound quite right.

"Or about to eat someone up," Bucky mutters.

" _Wolves and girls_ , James," Natasha answers, lips curling into a smile. " _Both have sharp teeth._ "

Bucky glances at her, for no more than five seconds, and catches the first and only glimpse of a part of herself Natasha keeps hidden away. It’s old and it’s dangerous and it makes the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end.

He shudders. "I think that's just you."

Natasha tilts her head to the side. "I like you, James. You pay attention, even if you don't always understand."

"And if I didn't?"

"Then I'd eat you for dinner,” Natasha says, smiling and showing her teeth.

And Bucky sees she is right.

Wolves and girls.

Both have sharp teeth

 

****

 

Bucky still doesn’t know what Natasha is.

But he does know she won’t eat him. At least not for now. If he doesn’t make her angry.

 

****

 

“Do you think he knows?” Bucky pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Steve?”

“I think it won’t be hard for him to figure it out,” Natasha admits. “It wasn’t for me, and you didn’t leave a dead animal on _my_ front step.”

Bucky picks up one of the pillows and buries his face in it.

He would try to smother himself after that one, but he’s learned that werewolves are hard to kill.

“Dammit it all to the goddamn hell,” Bucky says, voice muffled.

“You wolves have weird courting rituals,” Natasha muses. “All Clint ever did was aerial displays.”

And Bucky, well.

Bucky goes a bit cold inside.

 

****

 

The thing about being turning into a werewolf against one’s will is that usually there’s no one around to explain things.

And as knowledgeable as Dernier was about what they were becoming, hehim and the rest of the Howling Commandos pretty much had to figure things out for themselves.

That’s why their pack is structured the way it is: no one told them about dominance fights and alphas. They learned that particular bit of information around the mid-50s after accidentally approaching someone’s territory without warning and getting their asses kicked.

That means they’re flying blind most of the time, picking up bits and pieces of werewolf and pack culture as they go along. They’ve learned a lot since ‘45, but they haven’t learned everything, not in the way they would’ve if they’d been turned with their consent or if they were integrated to a pack after the war.

So courting rituals?

They’re news to Bucky.

 

****

 

“Please tell me I didn’t propose,” Bucky chokes out, feeling like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“Don’t be an idiot, James,” Natasha tells him. “Surely you know what you did.”

Bucky lets go of the pillow and sits up in bed, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress so he can face Natasha.

“I wasn’t born like this,” Bucky says, gesturing at himself.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Very few people are born with adult bodies. In fact, they aren’t people at all.”

Bucky growls at her, can’t really help himself.

“I meant _this_ ,” Bucky tries again, letting his eyes flash gold. “I was _made_ , Natasha. I was captured and strapped to a table and tortured until I was almost dead. I was _turned_ , not born. Their purpose was to break me and use me to _kill_. Use me and the other Commandos. It wasn’t in their best interest to explain what was happening.”

When Bucky is done, Natasha is quiet.

She is quiet for a few minutes.

She is quiet until she says, “I would eat them for you, you know. If you asked. If you didn’t. If they were still alive and you hadn’t killed them.”

Bucky sucks in a breath, loud and shaky in silent room.

He doesn’t thank her, doesn’t say he appreciates the sentiment, because it’s been a long time since it happened. It’s been a long time since the Howling Commandos made those who turn them pay the price.

He doesn’t say anything, because he knows Natasha means it.

He doesn’t say anything, because that scares him.

“What do you know about courting rituals?” is what Bucky goes with instead.

And he’s not disappointed when Natasha blinks, gives him a faint smile, and answers, “I know many things, James.”

 

****

 

Bucky fishes his phone and a change of clothes out of his duffel bag after Natasha is done explaining. He knows one of the guy must have dropped his things off at her place after they finished the run and Bucky was nowhere to be found.

Even though Bucky lost his sense of modesty after the war and he doesn’t think Natasha ever had any in the first place, he figures it’s good manners to get dressed if he’s going to be sitting at her table for a very late lunch or a very early dinner. Never mind that when he gets there it’s to find Clint wearing only a pair of purple boxers and an apron, stirring something at the stove.

Bucky checks his phone, unsurprised to find new text notifications and a a few missed calls. He’s too unsettled to think about replying to any of them now, Natasha’s words spinning through his mind.

So he does the next best thing.

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [5:57 PM]**

_some pack of wolves you mugs are_

_not even good to stop a fella from doing something dumb and making a fool of himself_

 

**Gabe @ Howling Commandos [5:57 PM]**

_We tried stopping you. You almost bit Morita’s right paw off._

 

**Morita @ Howling Commandos [5:58 PM]**

_I am still waiting for an apology for that._

_I’m very fond of my right paw._

 

**Dum Dum @ Howling Commandos [5:58 PM]**

_I DON’T SEE WHAT THE PROBLEM IS. IT GOT YOU TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS FOR STEVE._

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [5:58 PM]**

_morita, i’m sorry_

_and i don’t have feelings for Steve!!!!_

_and also check off your caps lock you dumbass i taught you how_

 

**Dernier @ Howling Commandos [5:59 PM]**

_Menteur!!! We know how you feel for little Steve._

 

**Dum Dum @ Howling Commandos [5:59 PM]**

_YOU’RE A BIG OL’ LIAR, BUCKY BARNES._

_AND FUCK OFF. I LIKE IT LIKE THIS._

 

**Monty @ Howling Commandos [5:59 PM]**

_You should know better than to lie to us, Sarge._

 

**Morita @ Howling Commandos [5:59 PM]**

_Thank you, Bucky._

_And yes, stop lying. We can all smell how much you like him._

 

**Gabe @ Howling Commandos [5:59 PM]**

_I wish we couldn’t._

_But I agree with Dum Dum. At least now you’ll be forced to get off your tail and do something about it._

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [6:00 PM]**

_i hate all of you_

_i’m ditching you for nat and the birds_

_they’ll be my new pack_

_and we’ll be way cooler than the howling commandos ever were_

 

**Dum Dum @ Howling Commandos [6:00 PM]**

**❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤**

 

****

 

Bucky walks home in a daze, his heart in his throat, and his stomach full but churning in embarrassment and anger and resignation.

Talking to the guys didn’t help much, not that he expected it would. They can be really unhelpful when they figure they’ve got their best friend's interests at heart.

After being turned, Bucky didn’t think anything else would catch him by surprise. He certainly didn’t think _courting rituals_ were a thing, and now he’s found out they are in the _most_ embarrassing and public way possible.

He’s angry at himself for losing control, and he’s angry that after seventy fuckin’ _years_ , the men who did this to him somehow still manage to fuck up his life.

He’s embarrassed with himself for losing control, and he’s embarrassed that he did something like this to _Steve_ , of all people.

And he knows Steve will figure out it was him.

And he’s pretty sure Steve will know what it means, Bucky leaving him dead animals covered in blood like a pretty shiny gory gift.

It’s the first step, according to Nat: showing that Bucky can be a good provider.

That, apparently, roughly translates into Bucky showing Steve he can keep them fed and from starving. Nevermind that the town has a lot of places that sell food, restaurants and grocery stores and bakeries and the like. And nevermind that Bucky can actually _cook_ , like the civilized man that he is, and wouldn’t need to go hunting for meat if he ever _did_ decide to court Steve for real.

Not that this isn’t real.

It is, it very much is, as the entire town is probably aware of now. It’s just that Bucky was more wolf than human when he made the decision to do it, more beast than man, more _un_ like himself than _as_ himself.

He wishes he had a little more time to think about it, is all.

A little more time to figure out if Steve felt the same way.

A little more time to prepare himself for certain rejection when he found out Steve didn’t.

It would be easier if Steve wasn’t who he is and like he is. Bucky would have just been able to lean into his space, glance at his lips, place a hand on his shoulder and let his touch linger for a second too long. Then all he’d have to do is breathe in, fill his nose with the sweet and spicy scent of arousal, and he’d know.

But Steve is who he is and like he is, and he was raised beside predators and can be considered one himself, so he knows how to use scent or lack thereof to his advantage.

He smells like blood and earth and rain, but not much else.

The subtle hints and shifts in scent due to heightened emotions that Bucky can find pretty much in everyone else ― with the exception of Natasha and Thor and the few faery folk who live deep in the woods ― isn’t there.

Steve’s emotions sometimes might show on his face, but Bucky knows better than to blindly believe in the front people show to the world.

And _now_ , after all of _this_ , after the freaking mess Bucky most definitely made of things, he’s _positive_ Steve will never speak to him again.

Or worse, he _will_. He’ll probably tell Bucky everything’s okay, but he doesn’t like Bucky like that, so they should just forget that Bucky gave in to his instincts and left a deer carcass in front of Steve’s doorstep and continue as they were.

As _just_ friends.

And the thing is, Bucky will do it.

He’ll bury his feelings and swallow the mournful howl trying to rip out of his throat, and he’ll do it. Because in truth, Steve deserves better than him.

Steve is _good_ and Bucky is war and blood and screams and _kills._

They’re too different.

Too dissonant.

Too opposite.

They’re two sides of the same coin.

Steve light and Bucky dark.

It just happens that Bucky forgot two sides of the same coin are melted together.

 

****

 

Bucky makes a plan on his walk home from Natasha’s.

It consists of exactly three things: 1) avoid Steve at all costs; if that doesn’t work out see 2) move out of town; and if that fails refer to 3) disappear completely.

So Bucky makes a plan.

He never claims it’s a good one.

Mostly because 1) Steve and Bucky have friends in common, one of them being Natasha; 2) short of death, Bucky would _never_ leave his pack behind; and 3) when he unlocks the front door to his house and steps inside he the first thing he sees is―

“Hiya, Buck.” Steve waves a hand, his other one curled around Bucky’s favorite mug. “You need to stop leaving dead bodies in front of my house.”

 

****

 

Didn’t Bucky say so?

There was no way Steve would be okay with what Bucky did.

 

****

 

Bucky can scent the tea from where he is, his entire living room smelling not only of himself but also of lemon and ginger and _Steve_.

It kind of makes him want to curl in on himself a bit, or around Steve. It makes him want to wrap himself with their blended scents and never let Steve leave.

Bucky wants a lot of things he can’t have. Always has, suspects he always will. Steve is just the most important one.

The steam rises from the mug and curls in the air in front of Steve’s face. He’s sitting on Bucky’s couch, one of Bucky’s many throw pillows over his lap. He’s wearing slim fit jeans and a size-too-big maroon henley, the sleeves pushed up at the elbows and the collar hanging low. He’s not wearing any shoes.

Bucky can see a large black cat tattooed on Steve’s forearm, its tail curling and uncurling around Steve’s wrist, and the end of a wing peeking out from near Steve’s collarbone. He sees other shapes and colors, the tattoos moving too quickly for him to figure out what they are.

Steve looks comfortable, cozy, right at home.

Bucky dies a little inside.

He also closes his door behind him, dumps his keys and bag and takes off his jacket and shoes. He wonders if things will be okay if he pretends he doesn’t know what Steve is talking about, but judging by the way Steve raises an eyebrow at his silence, he knows it won’t.

So he sits down on his favorite armchair, stretches his legs in front of himself, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Because this is happening.

He’s really going to do this.

He’s actually going to _talk_ about his feelings for Steve, even if indirectly, and _to Steve_ , instead of just lying to himself.

Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheeking, fighting the urge to rip his clothes off and turn into a wolf and _run the fuck away_. He’ll probably be able to spend a few days living in the woods before Natasha comes after him.

Or before something else eats him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and follows it with, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

But doesn’t really listen when Steve says, “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t meant to do― Wait,” Bucky stops, blinks, looks up at Steve. “I didn’t?”

“I can’t say I was pleased to wake up and find a dead deer in front of my house,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose a bit. “Especially after the sun rose. Dead things don’t smell really good.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispers under his breath, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and mortification.

He’s going to be feeling that a lot lately, isn’t he.

“But I wasn’t uncomfortable, Bucky,” Steve keeps going. “At least not until you started saying you didn’t meant to do it.”

“But I didn’t,” Bucky tells him. “Hand to god, Steve, I honestly had no idea―”

“Okay, I get it,” Steve says, tone sharper than before. It makes Bucky’s mouth snap shut and his eyes widen. “You don’t have to keep repeating yourself.”

Bucky stares at him. _Really_ stares at him.

Steve doesn’t look comfortable anymore. In fact, he looks tense and a bit angry and… disappointed?

And again, this would be so much easier if Bucky could just use his nose, if he could really smell Steve, taking in the nuances of his scent as his emotions change and turn and transform. But he _can’t_ , so he’s left with only the use of his eyes and his observation skills and the catalogue of Steve’s expressions he has in his mind.

“What’s happening here?” Bucky asks, uncrossing his arms and resting them on his thighs, his hands hanging between his legs.

Steve narrows his eyes. “You started it.”

“I―,” Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. “I know I did. I mean, I know what it means. That I left the deer at your house. Not that I knew it when I did it, but. Well, I do now. Natasha explained.”

“Natasha explained,” Steve says, eyes shuttered and voice hollow.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

“She did, yeah.”

“So you didn’t mean it, after all. You didn’t even know what you were doing,” Steve tells him, his fingers tightening around the mug. And then he’s getting up and placing the mug on the table, liquid sloshing over the rim, Bucky’s throw pillow falling to the floor at his feet. “I should go.”

“No, Steve, wait,” Bucky says, body jolting in panic. “That’s not what I―”

“ _Meant_?” Steve asks, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m not sayin’ this right,” Bucky mutters, hands running through his hair and tugging at the strands.

“No shit, Bucky,” Steve snaps, raising his chin.

Steve looks angry and hurt and confused, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes Bucky want to kneel before him, show him his belly, bare his throat.

Bucky ignores all of that in favor of saying, “Don’t give me any lip, pal. I’m not the only dumbass standin’ in this room.”

Because Bucky might be in love with him, but that doesn’t mean he has to take any of Steve’s shit.

“You are from where _I’m_ standin’,” Steve huffs, but his fists uncurl and Bucky can see him fighting a smile.

Bucky counts that as a win.

“You’re a punk,” Bucky says, fondness bleeding into his tone. “Sit back down. We gotta have a _conversation_.”

“Been tryin’ to do that since you came in,” Steve mumbles.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky warns.

“You’re a jerk,” Steve says, picking up the throw pillow from the floor and throwing it on Bucky’s head.

Bucky catches it easily and hugs it to his chest, and doesn’t even bother trying to pretend he’s not sniffing it, chasing Steve’s scent on his things. And he knows Steve notices it, from the way his lips part a bit and his body loses some of its tension.

He doesn’t look so much hurt as he does confused, though.

Bucky needs to fix it.

“I didn’t know what it mean when I did it,” Bucky starts, but rushes ahead when Steve starts looking like he might bolt again. “It was pure instinct. I caught your scent in the woods and,” Bucky waves a hand in front of him, “lost a bit of control.”

“Bucky,” Steve says his name, soft and worried.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky answers. “It happens sometimes.”

Steve gives him a look as if to say _oh, really?_ at that.

Bucky rolls his eyes at himself and Steve. “Okay, maybe not really. But things are different when I’m a wolf. Sharper, stronger. Impulses are easier to follow too, since I don’t have to worry about so much stuff.”

Steve picks up his mug from the table, taking a sip of his tea. “Go on,” he says, eyes focused on Bucky from over the rim.

Bucky takes a deep breath, not really knowing how to say what he needs to next.

Which is maybe why he just blurts out, “You just smell _really good,_ alright? _,_ ” and then almost brains himself on the coffee table on his hurry to get to Steve.

Who is now choking.

And wheezing.

And having trouble breathing.

Nice job there, Bucky.

Killing the man he loves before they even get to make out a bit.

“Shit,” Bucky says, one hand resting on the middle of Steve’s chest and the other reaching around for the inhaler Steve keeps with him at all times.

Bucky has to give it to whoever human came up with this thing. It has helped Steve and his bad lungs more times than Bucky can count.

“Breathe with me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, shifting so he can press his chest against part of Steve’s back. “C’mon, pal. You know how this goes. In and out. Nice and easy. Just breathe.”

“Well,” Steve gasps, slumping against Bucky’s side. “That was unexpected.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says, cheeks turning red. “I didn’t mean to just come out and say it.”

“‘s fine that you did,” Steve tells him, and then glances up at Bucky from under his lashes. “So…”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groans, because he _knows_ that glint in Steve’s eyes means nothing good.

“I smell really good?” Steve teases, knocking their knees together.

“I― _Yes_ , okay?” Bucky admits, covering his eyes with his hand. Maybe if he doesn’t _look_ at Steve, this will be less mortifying. “You do. Like really fuckin’ good. Is that a weird thing to say? Is that too creepy? I don’t mean to be a creeper, Steve, honest. Cross my heart.”

Bucky feels Steve shaking against his side, and when he drops his hand from his face is to see Steve grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he tries not to burst out laughing.

“This ain’t funny!” Bucky protests, even though he’s also smiling. “See if I ever pay you a compliment again. All it gets me is you laughing at my face.”

Steve loses his smile at that, expression soft but serious. “You know that’s not true.”

Bucky tries to swallow, mouth going dry. He gazes back at Steve, getting a little lost in the blue of his eyes and the pink of his lips.

“Buck?” Steve prompts, never once looking away from him.

“I didn’t know what I was doing when I left that gift to you,” Bucky says. “But if I did, it wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky nods, feeling the rapid beat of Steve’s heart against his side. “I’d do it again. I’d hunt and kill and show you how good I can be one more time. With the full knowledge of what was happening and what I was doing.”

Steve licks his lips. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh?”

“Once was enough,” Steve says, and his lips quirk up. “Plus, getting blood stains off wood after it seeps in is a real pain in the ass.”

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky winces. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“You better,” Steve says, shifting on the couch so he’s leaning more of his weight against Bucky.

They’re close, closer than they have ever been before. Bucky can feel Steve’s side expanding on each breath, can feels his heart beating under his ribs, can feel Steve’s breath ghosting over his chin.

Bucky’s entire world narrows down to Steve; the look in his eyes, the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin.

Bucky wants to melt against Steve, wrap himself around him, swallow him whole.

Instead, Bucky kisses him.

 

****

 

Bucky feels it in his blood, his bones, his soul.

He has felt it for the past seventy years, like an inch under his skin, leaving him restless and tense and trapped.

The pull of the moon isn’t always kind, but Bucky is used to it.

 

****

 

Bucky kisses Steve and he feels it in his blood, his bones, his soul.

Steve calls to Bucky like the moon to the tides, the moon to the night, but not the moon to the wolf.

The pull is equally strong, but gentle and calm, and Bucky hopes he has all the time in the world to get used to it.

Steve’s lips feel warm and soft under his own. Not yielding, because the day Steve yields to something is the day Bucky lets Natasha eat him. He tastes of lemon and ginger and medicine, of relief and satisfaction and future promises.

Bucky kisses him like expects this all to be a dream, like he expects to taste his heart in Steve’s throat; it’s hot and deep and all-consuming. And Steve answers in kind, with his hands coming up to tangled through Bucky’s hairs, the scars on his wrists grazing Bucky’s neck.

He pulls Bucky closer, and Bucky lets himself be moved. He’s too distracted by Steve licking his way into his mouth, anyway. Steve’s tongue hot and wet against his own, Steve’s lips moving over his, Steve’s taste and scent surrounding him.

Bucky dies inside a little, but this time for an entire different reason.

He drags his hands down Steve’s back, feeling the knobs of Steve’s spine under his palms, and lets them rest on either side of Steve’s hips, squeezing. He fights back a smile when that makes Steve shiver, not wanting to stop kissing, and instead lets his thumbs play with the hem of Steve’s shirt.

Bucky has been wanting to touch him for what feels like a lifetime.

He doesn’t want to wait anymore.

He nips at Steve’s bottom lip, light and quick, before kissing him again, and slides his hands under Steve’s shirt. He touches and touches and touches, glad when Steve lets him learn every curve of his upper body, the shape of his bones, the ridges of his scars.

This is the kind of torture Bucky loves best; the slow touches and slower burn, the anticipation. He never wants it to stop.

Which is why he whimpers, high and needy, in the back of his throat when Steve breaks the kiss, pulling away from him with a slick sound.

Not that Steve goes far. Only enough so he can look at Bucky in the eye, the tips of their noses touching.

Bucky can’t help himself. He breathes in deep, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s own, stomach flipping when _bloodearthrain_ mixes with his own scent, _bloodmossfrost_ , giving life and warmth to the dead winter, turning into _SteveandBucky_ and _BuckyandSteve_.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, voice hoarse and wrecked.

“You got that right,” Steve says, laughing when his voice cracks. “I didn’t come here for this, y’know?”

Bucky stares at him, and feels pleasure and pride and lust rush through his body.

Steve’s are flushed, his dark eyes and his lips swollen. The wing peeking out from under Steve’s collar has also moved, the tattoo of what now Bucky sees is a raven coming to rest against his collarbone and neck.

Bucky did that.

He’s the one responsible for making Steve look like that.

 _Goddamn_.

“Is this you complainin’?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t move an inch away. “Should I be offended?”

“No,” Steve answers, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “Just isn’t what I had in mind when I came here, is all.”

“Oh? And what did you think was gonna happen?”

Steve shrugs one shoulder, fingers carding through Bucky’s hair. “Thought I’d get to cook you dinner after I told you you didn’t need to kill anything else for me. You know, let you know I was returning the gesture by making you something. Have that be our first date.”

Bucky blinks at him, heart tripping in his chest at knowing Steve _really_ wants to do this with him.

Not that all the kissing didn’t clue him in, but it’s still nice to hear.

Except that his mind catches on to something and doesn’t let go. “What do you mean, _returning the gesture_?”

Steve sighs, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky goes a little crossed-eyed trying to look at him, but he doesn’t want to move. Not when Steve is this close, practically in this lap, comfortable and smelling of both himself and Bucky.

“Did Natasha explain that courting rituals aren’t one-sided?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s stomach drops.

“She might have forgotten to mention it.”

Only Bucky knows she _absolutely didn’t_. She just thought it would be funnier if Bucky didn’t have the whole picture.

Natasha makes her own fun, and most of it is at the expense of others.

She’s lucky Bucky loves her, otherwise _he_ might eat her.

“Well, they aren’t,” Steve tells him, and now he pulls back, his hands falling from Bucky’s hair to rest on his shoulders.

Bucky tries not to look too disappointed.

He fails. Apparently he likes having his hair played with.

Steve huffs out a laugh but scratches at the back of Bucky’s neck, short nails digging into his skin.

Bucky shudders, eyes half-lidded.

That’s just as good.

“They’re about what we can do for each other,” Steve explains. “It’s not just about what you can give me, but also what I can offer you. Healthy relationships are about give and take, and this isn’t any different.”

“Sounds kinda different,” Bucky mumbles. “I didn’t hafta kill a cow back in the ‘30s whenever I wanted to take a girl out on a date.”

“Well, Buck, you weren’t a wolf back then,” Steve says, poking him in the chest. “And I wasn’t even alive.”

Bucky’s face crumples at that.

They haven’t known each other for long, but he can’t conceive a world without Steve in it.

At least not anymore.

Steve cups Bucky’s face between his hands and kisses the tip of his nose. “All this stuff is about showing each other that we’re worthy.”

“I already know _that_ , you dumbass,” Bucky huffs. “Everyone knows you’re a catch, Rogers.”

“You’re the dumbass.” Steve rolls his eyes, but Bucky takes note of the pleased flush on his cheeks. “I know that about you _too_ , but that didn’t stop you from leaving a deer at my house.”

“I apologized for that.”

“You did,” Steve concedes. “And I should probably warn you, Buck, that if you let me cook you dinner tonight, that’s what we’re having.”

“Venison?” Bucky perks up, mouth watering.

“Yup.”

“Just not the dead one I gave you, right?” Bucky asks. “That ain’t healthy, Steve.”

“Do you think I want to kill you with bad meat after waiting so long for you to get your head on straight?” Steve frowns, flicking Bucky on the forehead.

“Hey,” Bucky protests, rubbing at the spot. “And who said anything about me not having my head on straight in the _first place_?”

“If you did, you would’ve asked me out a long time ago, Bucky,” Steve replies. “Instead of waiting for a full moon and losing control and starting a courting ritual without having _any idea what you were doing._ ”

“How was I supposed to _know_? You never said!”

Steve grabs the back of his neck and shakes him a little. “Because it was obvious!”

Bucky knows that was meant to clear his head, but all it really does is make him want to curl up in Steve’s lap.

He’s learning all kinds of new things about himself tonight.

“It really wasn’t, Stevie.”

“Natasha knew,” Steve tells him, like that’s supposed to mean something.

“Natasha knows many things,” Bucky throws back instantly, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

“Sam and Riley knew.”

“They’re your best friends, of course they knew.”

“Clint knew.”

“What Natasha knows, Clint probably knows too.”

Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat, kind of like an angry little growl.

Bucky swallows.

He is _so in love_.

“The Commandos knew!”

“Well, yeah, of course they knew I li―,” Bucky stops, realizes what Steve’s just said, and now _he’s_ the one growling. “Those fuckin’ bastards. They _knew_?”

“Not that hard to figure out, Buck,” Steve drawls, shaking his head at Bucky.

“But it _is_ ,” Bucky insists. “You don’t smell like other beings smell.”

“I thought you said I smelled good,” Steve scowls.

“Trust me, pal, you do,” Bucky says, feeling a bit helpless. “But you don’t smell like other beings do. There’s no shift in your scent when you’re happy or sad or hurt or… you know.”

“Or when I like someone?” Steve offers.

“Yeah,” Bucky says lamely.

“There’s a reason for that.”

“I figured,” Bucky shrugs one shoulder.

“It doesn’t do me any good to reveal my emotions like that, not in my line of work,” Steve mutters. “Or in my line of living, really. And people are counting on me.”

“I know,” Bucky says, because he _does_.

Steve deals in protection. There’s a high price for it, and having someone too angry or scared or who doesn’t seem absolutely calm and steady doesn’t inspire confidence when they’re doing the job.

Steve deals in protection, so he must protect himself above all.

And Bucky knows better than anyone the kinds of shadows that go bump in the night.

“All you had to do was stare at my face,” Steve says quietly. “Heaven knows how dumb I looked whenever I was staring at you.”

“That’s kinda hard to guess,” Bucky says, sounding weak. “You look dumb all the time.”

“And you’re a real jerk, James Barnes,” Steve snaps, trying to push Bucky away from him.

“No, no, no,” Bucky says, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and holding him in place. He knows Steve could get free if he wanted to, could probably blow a hole straight through him with the kind of power he has. “Steve. Steve. _Stevie_ , look at me. C’mon, sweetheart.”

Steve glances up, but his lips are downturned and his eyes are narrowed.

Bucky can see it, though, in a way he didn’t before. The burning behind Steve’s eyes, the longing, the fondness, and the―

Well, Bucky doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.

“Well?” Steve asks, pulling at strand of Bucky’s hair to catch his attention.

“I really am an idiot,” Bucky breathes out, eyes on Steve’s face, fascinated.

Steve’s expression goes a little wobbly, like he’s fighting with himself not to laugh. “If you say so, Bucky.”

“I do,” Bucky murmurs, bringing one hand up so he can trace his fingers over Steve’s cheek, the bridge of his nose, his jaw. “I see it now.”

“ _Good_.”

“I’m sorry it took me this long,” Bucky whispers.

And Steve leans in, their lips touching, and says, “It’s okay. We’re here now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nat's 'wolves and girls' lines are not my own!! they come from the comic _[black widow: the name of the rose](https://www.comixology.com/Black-Widow-The-Name-of-the-Rose/digital-comic/24376)_ by marjorie liu, which i def recommend to everyone :D


	2. protect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** for this chapter: blood and mentions of past torture as following what happened to bucky in the first captain america movie. also sex :D
> 
> oh, and many thanks to acuisle once again for all the info on woodworking and carpentry :*

The raven keeps staring at Bucky.

It tilts its head, beady eyes entirely focused on him, its black wings fluttering every few seconds. It has a particular _look_ in his eyes, beak opening and closing whenever Bucky blinks, as if it wants to ask for something.

Bucky would think it’s weird, but after four months of having it around, he’s used to it.

He lifts up a hand, tracing the tips of his fingers lightly over the raven’s head. It closes its eyes and goes absolutely still, enjoying being petted. Bucky’s lips twitch up. In that moment, it looks like it’s not even real.

“Tickles,” Steve mumbles, turning on his side.

Steve’s raven tattoo moves with him when that makes Bucky take back his hand. It ends up high on Steve’s shoulder, wings stretching so they cover part of Steve’s neck and collarbone. It looks annoyed. Bucky’s barely-there smile widens an inch.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, even though he’s not sorry at all.

He even goes back to touching Steve’s tattoo, this time letting his fingers move over the raven’s back, over its wings, over its beak. It goes still again, but this time Steve shudders, batting Bucky’s hand away.

“Said it tickles,” Steve says, voice muffled.

Bucky presses his palm flat against the side of Steve’s neck and then slides it down his back, stopping when he reaches Steve’s hip. He pulls Steve closer to him, sticking a leg in between Steve’s thighs, Steve’s head safely tucked under his chin.

He breathes in deep.

Bucky’s entire room smells of Steve, and of himself, and of both them together.

Blood and earth and moss and rain and frost.

His own little paradise on earth, made up of four walls, a bed, a mountain of pillows and blankets, and Steve.

It’s been four months.

Bucky wants it to be forever.

 

****

 

Mornings with Steve aren’t new, not anymore, but they are the best.

 

****

 

“Don’t go.”

“Buck, I gotta―”

“Stay with me,” Bucky says, nipping at Steve’s wrist. “‘S cold outside, we can stay in bed all day.”

Steve rolls his eyes, fingers curling under Bucky’s chin. “We did that yesterday.”

They did, and Bucky’s sheets still smell of them.

They always do, if Bucky’s being honest. Even after they’re washed, Steve’s scent lingers. Bucky knows it’s because of how much time they spend together, how often Steve sleeps in his bed, _bloodearthrain_ seeping into the threads, finding a home in the fabric.

It’s much the same with the rest of Bucky’s apartment, since everything Steve touches ends up smelling of him and magic. Bucky’s couch, his throw pillows, the collection of dime novels in the living room bookshelf.

Bucky, both the man and wolf parts of him, thinks it’s wonderful.

“We can do it again today,” Bucky shrugs, mouthing at the palm of Steve’s hand. “Nothing says we can’t.”

“My _job_ says we can’t,” Steve huffs. “I gotta go reinforce the wards around Tony and Pepper’s house. They almost set fire to the neighbor’s garden again.”

“They should know better than to live next door to a dragon _and_ a phoenix,” Bucky mumbles, tonguing in between Steve’s slim fingers. “It’s obvious they’re gonna end up setting something on fire.”

“That’s why I hafta _go_ ,” Steve tells him. “So that the wards don’t fail and so they don’t end up settin’ fire to _all of us_.”

Bucky stops licking Steve’s hand, instead letting his lips rest right on top of Steve’s knuckles. He looks up, taking in the annoyance and fondness plain as day on Steve’s expression.

“Your wards are that strong,” Bucky says, blinking up at up.

“They have to be, to contain dragonfire,” Steve replies. “Tony could probably set the entire town to waste if he wanted to.”

Bucky doesn’t say _so could you_ , but they both know what he’s thinking.

Steve’s wards are strong enough to contain dragonfire, and Steve is stronger than the wards he creates. There’s a price one must pay, to wield that much power.

Bucky kisses the carved rune on the back of Steve’s hand.

“I still like my idea better,” Bucky mumbles.

“Course you do,” Steve says, pressing two fingers against Bucky’s bottom lip. “Your idea involves orgasms.”

Bucky’s only answer is to suck Steve’s fingers into his mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue curling around the digits. Steve tastes of himself, of soap, and faintly of what they did last night.

Bucky loves it and Bucky moans and Bucky pleads Steve with his eyes to _stay_.

And Steve might be strong and Steve might be powerful, but Steve isn’t very good at saying no to Bucky.

“You’re a menace, Bucky Barnes,” Steve mutters, pushing his fingers against Bucky’s tongue.

Bucky smiles, as much as he can with his mouth full.

Steve sighs.

And then he slips his fingers out of Bucky’s mouth, unbuttons his pants, and stays.

 

****

 

The first time Bucky gets his hands on Steve, every lightbulb in his house breaks.

Bucky pulls Steve under him when he hears the sound of glass breaking. His arms are on either side of Steve’s face, his palms covering the top of Steve’s head, the rest of his body covering Steve’s own.

It’s instinct, using himself as Steve’s shield.

It’s instinct, protecting him from harm, or protecting him from possible harm.

He can feel Steve breathing against his throat, hot puffs of breath finding his skin. Steve’s heart is beating under his, strong if a little fast and irregular. Steve’s hands are on Bucky’s stomach, nails digging in.

Bucky listens for an intruder, listens for the reason why he’s house is in sudden darkness, listens for a threat.

He doesn’t find one. All he can hear are the sounds of him and Steve breathing, their hearts beating together, the creaking and cracking sounds his house makes.

Bucky lifts his head up and takes a look around, seeing the broken glass on the floor, some on the bed, a few shards on one of his pillows. His back is tense, body still poised to protect, to attack, to hurt someone at any minute.

Not that there’s seems to be anyone around Bucky needs to protect them from.

“What the _fuck_?” Bucky growls more than asks, and he knows his eyes are gold and his teeth are sharp and he looks more wolf than man.

“Uh.”

Bucky glances down at Steve, who’s looking up at him a little dazed.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, one hand moving from Steve’s head to cup his jaw, finding Steve’s pulse with his pinky. His nails are claws, deadly against Steve’s soft and pale skin. “Steve?”

“‘M fine, Bucky.” Steve licks his lips, his cheeks flushing. “It’s only that, uh.”

Bucky frowns, hair falling in his eyes and brushing Steve’s face. “What?”

Steve slides a hand up from Bucky’s stomach, passing his chest, down the side of Bucky’s neck and stopping at his face.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Steve says, and Bucky goes a different kind of tense.

It’s true, Steve’s never seen this side of him before.

Bucky is comfortable with who he is, or as comfortable as one can get with being a werewolf after seventy years. He doesn’t hide that part of himself, doesn’t make excuses for it, doesn’t see it as a burden.

At least not anymore.

Steve’s never seen this side of him before, not because of reluctance on Bucky’s part but because the opportunity never presented itself.

At least not until now.

Bucky doesn’t dare move when Steve touches under his eyes, or when Steve takes his hand from his neck and kisses his clawed fingers, or when Steve presses a finger into his mouth and traces his fangs.

But he does move when Steve cuts himself on the sharp end of his teeth.

Not to push Steve away, though. Instead, Bucky closes his lips around Steve’s fingers, tongue laving at the small wound, tasting Steve’s blood in his mouth.

Steve’s never seen this side of him before, but he knows what kind of man, what kind of creature, Bucky is.

And he doesn’t flinch from it.

Steve’s eyes fall to Bucky’s mouth and darken, his own lips parting and breath hitching as he watches. He presses his finger into Bucky’s tongue, heart skipping a beat when Bucky sucks on it gently.

And that’s when all of Bucky’s feather pillows explode.

 

****

 

Steve prides himself on his control.

He has a reason to, after almost thirty years of practice.

The tattoos covering him help. Each of them draw a little power and serve as anchors, focus points, helping Steve keep himself in check. The runes and sigils carved into his skin channel the magic and help Steve use what he has at his disposal without burning himself from the inside out.

Magic and power have a price, Bucky knows.

Steve paid it with blood and pain, and he bares the marks for all to see.

That doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen, sometimes.

Magic needs to be used, or it builds and builds and builds and turns itself back on you. It eats you from the inside out, it drains you, it consumes you. It takes from you, little by little, until you have nothing left to give.

Steve casts as much as he can. A little protection here, a wish of good health there, infusing a bit of his magic into anything and everything that he can get his hands on. It helps to keep his magic from spilling over, to keep his magic from harming himself more than it already has.

All of that is not enough, sometimes.

Those are the times when Steve goes deep in the dark woods, his feet bare and his heart in his throat and his magic crackling around him.

Those are the times when Steve goes deep in the dark woods and screams and screams and screams.

Those are the times when Steve goes deep in the dark woods and lets his magic out.

 

****

 

Bucky doesn’t know what he’s in for, the first time the air thickens around Steve to the point where it seems like Bucky will suffocate if he tries to take a deep breath.

“Tell me you’re not dying,” is what comes out of Bucky’s mouth as soon as he gets eyes on Steve, his hands reaching out to touch.

The shock that goes through his body takes him back to the lab in Austria, to the screams and the blood and the pain. He gasps, but he’s not sure if he yells, and he pierces his palms with his claws.

The scent of his own blood makes his stomach churn, and Bucky knows he won’t survive being back in that place.

“ _Bucky_!” he hears, although the voice seems far away. “Bucky, _please_. C’mon, open your eyes for me. It’s Steve. I’m here. You’re safe, you’re safe. I’ve got you, Buck, please. Just open your eyes.”

It calls to him, the voice. It pulls and scratches and tugs. It also has no place in Bucky’s house of horror, which more than anything makes him listen to it.

He opens his eyes.

Steve is leaning over him, eyes tight and lips turned down. He’s not touching Bucky, hands pressed to the floor by Bucky’s head. The air around him is electric, and Bucky feels like the smallest movement would cause a spark.

Bucky’s never caught on fire before but he’s not curious to see how that would feel like.

“Steve?”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve rushes, miserable and guilty. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“What the fuck?” Bucky sits up slowly, muscles protesting. Getting shocked is never fun. Bucky would know. “What the hell was that?”

“It was me,” Steve says quietly, agony plain on his face.

“What the _fuck_?” Bucky repeats, and then his stomach plummets when the air crackles around Steve’s head. “You’re not dying, are you?”

Steve swallows. “Not really?”

“Not _really_?” Bucky shouts, panic sitting cold and heavy on his heart.

Steve can’t be dying. Not when Bucky has just found him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Explain.”

“Maybe you should lea―”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky snaps. “I ain’t leavin’ you. Now tell me why it feels like the entire room’s about to explode around us.”

Steve clenches his jaw, his eyes bright and upset. Then he slumps, almost like he’s curling into himself. Bucky reaches out to touch him again, but Steve flinches back.

“Steve,” Bucky repeats, much softer this time.

“It builds,” Steve starts, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“What builds?”

“The magic,” Steve replies. “I try to use it as much as possible, but sometimes it’s still not enough. It gathers, inside of me, asking to be left out.”

“And if you don’t? If you don’t let it out?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but when he glances up it’s like Bucky a knife to Bucky’s heart.

“It kills you, doesn’t it?” Bucky brings a shaky hand up, runs his fingers through his hair. “It tears you up inside.”

“The price of magic is high,” Steve says, and in that moment he sounds as old as Bucky feels. “It always has been.”

“It’s a price you’re willing to pay.”

Steve shakes his head, and when he laughs, it’s bitter. “I don’t have a choice.”

Bucky looks at him, at the man he’s in love with him, and says, “What do you need to do?”

“I can’t ask you to do this with me.”

“You ain’t askin’ me a think, pal. I’m offering.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “I need to go to the woods.”

Steve and Bucky go deep in the dark woods, Bucky is his wolf skin and Steve with his feet bare and his heart in his throat and his magic crackling around him.

Steve and Bucky go deep in the dark woods and Steve screams and screams and screams while Bucky lays down beside him on the forest ground and hopes to fuck he doesn’t have to watch Steve die.

Steve and Bucky go deep in the dark woods and Steve lets his magic out.

It soaks into the earth beneath his feet, into the tree roots and tree branches and tree leaves. It lights up the woods around the, bright and gold and impossibly strong. It brushes against Bucky’s fur, his paws, his nose.

Steve’s magic is blood and earth and rain, just like Steve is.

But it’s also pain and light and power.

Steve kneels on the ground when he’s done, skin covered in sweat, his entire body shaking.

Bucky goes to him as a wolf and rests his muzzle on top of Steve’s shoulder. He stays there, quiet and still, when Steve brings his arms up and digs his fingers into Bucky’s brown and fluffy coat.

Bucky stays with him and shifts back to his human skin and hugs Steve back.

They cling to each other, exhausted and grateful in the knowledge that it’s all over.

At least for now.

“I love you,” Bucky says, voice muffled and lips brushing against the skin of Steve’s neck.

He can taste the saltiness of Steve’s sweat on his tongue. And he would like that, if it was any other time other than this, if he couldn’t feel Steve shaking, tiny tremors running along his body.

“I love you,” Bucky says again, voice muffled and lips brushing against the skin of Steve’s neck.

And he does.

He loves Steve more than he loves anyone else, maybe even himself.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers, tightening his hold.

That’s when Bucky kisses him, deep and slow and sweet.

And that’s when Bucky’s heart breaks into a thousand little pieces only to be put back together again.

 

****

 

Steve prides himself on his control.

He has a reason to, after almost thirty years of practice.

This is not one of those times.

“Well,” Steve clears his throat, looking all kinds of dazed. There are feathers in his hair, in Bucky’s hair, covering every inch of the bed. Some are still in the air, falling slowly as they stare at each other. “That’s never happened to me before.”

A feather falls on Steve’s nose.

“Pal, you’ve got some explainin’ to do,” Bucky says, and blows the feather away.

“It’s different with you,” Steve tells him, fingers plucking feathers out of Bucky’s hair. “Better.”

“I should hope so,” Bucky mutters, closing his eyes and turning his head so he can nuzzle Steve’s arm.

Steve pulls at Bucky’s hair, sharp and quick. Bucky shudders.

A little pain with his pleasure is always a good thing.

“You make me forget,” Steve says, nails scratching at Bucky’s scalp.

Bucky arches into him, their naked bodies touching from chest to toes. He also opens his eyes and glances down at Steve.

“Forget what?”

“Everything but us.”

Steve’s smile is small, but it’s like sunlight on Bucky’s skin.

 

****

 

The first time Bucky puts his mouth on Steve every door on Bucky’s house bursts open.

 

****

 

The first time Bucky pushes inside of Steve they float four feet above the bed.

 

****

 

The first time Bucky has Steve inside of him the sheets catch on fire.

 

****

 

“You’re a menace, Bucky Barnes,” Steve mutters, pushing his fingers against Bucky’s tongue.

Bucky smiles, as much as he can with his mouth full.

Steve sighs.

And then he slips his fingers out of Bucky’s mouth, unbuttons his pants, and stays.

Bucky watches Steve as he undresses, eyes taking in every inch of skin that’s revealed before his eyes.

Steve has tattoos on his chest, his back, his sides. Some cover his arms, his legs, his feet. They’re all in color and they’re all alive, shifting and moving out of their own accord.

Steve has scars on his hands, his wrists, the middle of his chest. Some cover his feet, his back, his sides. They’re all white and they all look like they hurt, pulling at the skin when Steve moves.

Steve is beautiful and Bucky wants every inch of him.

Bucky offers a hand and pulls Steve back into bed, catching his lips in a kiss before they both fall back into the pillows. He nips at Steve’s bottom lip, licking his way into Steve’s mouth, tasting mint toothpaste and spit and Steve.

“Try not to set fire to anything this time,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s mouth. “Or break any of my stuff. Or make us float.”

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbles, sucking on Bucky’s top lip. “And put your mouth to better use.”

Bucky grins, wide and wicked, and does as he’s told.

He presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before moving down to his neck, resting his teeth against Steve’s pulse point. He kisses Steve’s collarbones, licks and teases his nipples until they’re pink and puffy, and sucks a bruise on the middle of Steve’s chest, right above Steve’s scars.

Steve’s body is marked by scars and tattoos, and now Steve is marked by Bucky.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, hands on Bucky’s hair, holding on.

Bucky sticks his tongue on Steve’s belly button just to hear him laugh, pins his legs to the bed when Steve tries to kick him off in retaliation, buries his nose into the nest of curls at the base of Steve’s dick and breathes him in.

“You gonna sniff me all day?” Steve asks, fingers carding through Bucky’s hair.

“I might,” Bucky says, lips brushing against Steve’s balls. “You gonna let me?”

“No,” Steve answers, and Bucky looks up to see Steve’s smiling. “I really want you to suck my dick, Buck.”

“Well, Stevie, since you asked so nicely.”

Bucky takes Steve apart with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue.

He listens to Steve’s breathy moans, low gasps, and needy whimpers as he sucks him off, Steve’s dick hard and heavy on his tongue, the bitter taste of precome at the back of his throat.

He loves it, having Steve like this.

Steve under him, his hands in Bucky’s hair, his hips coming off the mattress everytime he thrust up, fucking his dick into Bucky’s mouth, watching himself as he slides in and out from between Bucky’s lips.

He loves it even more when Steve rests his thumb of the corner of his mouth, when Steve moans his name, when Steve’s entire body tenses.

But Bucky loves it most when Steve is tipping over the edge and coming down his throat.

 

****

 

Nothing breaks, explodes, floats, or catches fire this time.

 

****

 

“You gonna let me?” Bucky asks, straddling Steve on the bed.

He already has a hand between his legs, jacking himself slowly, eyes shining gold as he stares down at the man under him.

“Yes,” Steve says, resting his hands on Bucky’s thighs and baring his throat.

Bucky licks his lips, and all he can taste is _Steve_.

 

****

 

Nothing breaks, explodes, floats, or catches fire this time.

But Steve ends up with Bucky’s marks on him.

Bucky’s hickeys in the middle of his chest, right above his heart, and Bucky’s come all over his stomach, chest, and throat.

Bucky breathes in, and all he can smell is _them_.

 

****

 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky says, leaning back against the headboard and watching as Steve gets dressed.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, lips curled in a smirk. “How can I, when I’m leavin’ all the stupid with you?”

Bucky snaps his teeth at him, more playful than hurt.

Steve laughs, small and quick, and bends down to place a kiss on Bucky’s forehead.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“I mean it,” Bucky tells him, tilting his head up so he can bump their noses together. Steve still smells of him, even after he took another shower, but it’s faint, muted, almost gone. “Be careful.”

Bucky knows Steve can take care of himself, but he worries. The same way Steve knows Bucky can take care of himself, but he worries.

“Always am, Bucky,” Steve replies, pecking him on the lips. “See ya later.”

Steve’s almost out of the room when Bucky stops him with a question. “You goin’ out like that, Rogers?”

Steve turns, looking down at himself and frowning. He’s wearing jeans, boots, one of his long-sleeved henleys over an undershirt, and a blue flannel shirt to top it all. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s December,” Bucky points out.

“And?”

“And it’s _cold_ ,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You’re gonna catch a cold if that’s all you’re wearing.”

Steve deals in protection, but sometimes he’s not very good at taking care of himself.

Steve makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “I was gonna grab a coat on my way out, Bucky.”

“Wait a sec,” Bucky says, kicking the blankets off of him and getting up from the bed.

There’s nothing annoyed about the sound Steve makes when Bucky walks around the room naked, and Bucky can’t help but preen a little.

He knows Steve likes him, but it’s good to know how much.

“I’m gonna be late,” Steve complains.

“Kinda already are, pal.”

Bucky opens his closet, rummaging through his clothes until he finds what he’s looking for.

“You’re a bad influence,” Steve glares at him when Bucky turns back, but there’s no heat to it.

They all know it is not true.

Bucky might be a wolf, a man, a killer, but being a bad influence isn’t one of his sins.

Now Steve, that’s another story.

“Here,” Bucky says, walking up to Steve and looping a red wool scarf three times around his neck. “There you go.”

Steve deals in protection, but sometimes Bucky needs to protect Steve from himself.

It also helps that the scarf smells strongly of Bucky. So Steve, who before smelled mostly of just himself, now also smells of wolf and Bucky.

Bucky won't pretend he doesn't love it.

Steve’s eyebrows climb up as he fidgets with the fringes at the end of the scarf. “Where’d you get this?”

“You know Riley’s been knittin’,” Bucky shrugs. “Says it helps him pass the time.”

Riley is Sam’s and Riley’s been hurt. He’s another shifter, a falcon just like Sam, who had a flying accident in the woods a few months back. His wings healed slowly, but they didn’t heal right. Not even with Steve’s help.

Riley is a falcon and Riley can’t fly anymore.

A bird with clipped wings, who’ll never touch the sky.

“I didn’t know he knit you anything.”

“Jealous?” Bucky smirks, pulling Steve to him by hooking his fingers around the scarf around his neck.

“No,” Steve huffs, lips turning down.

Bucky kisses Steve’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his top lip. “You’re the only fella I got eyes for, sweetheart.”

Steve’s tongue darts out, chasing after the warmth of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky obliges, closing the distance between them and catching his lips in a sweet and slow kiss.

When Steve pulls back, it is to whisper, “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles lazily, fingers touching Steve’s neck under the wool.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, their noses bumping together. “Because if I had to fight anyone for you, I’d win.”

“Ain’t a prize, Stevie,” Bucky breathes out, although he appreciates the sentiment.

He also knows that if Steve were to fight anyone, well, it’d be kinder to let Natasha eat them.

“Of course not,” Steve agrees. “Don’t meant I wouldn’t fight the world for you, if you needed me to.”

And Bucky should know.

Steve deals in protection, and now Bucky is someone he wants to protect.

 

****

 

“Well, someone smells like they had fun.”

“Fuck off, Morita.”

“Well, if you don’t want us to talk about it, how about you _shower_?” Morita suggests, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

“Didn't wanna,” Bucky shrugs.

“Didn’t wanna stop smelling like _Steve_ , is more like,” Monty murmurs, ducking away and laughing when Bucky tries to punch him in the shoulder.

“I, for one, don’t mind,” Dum Dum says, hooking his fingers on the beltloop of his jeans and beaming, his mustache twitching. “Just means Bucky got himself a sweetheart.”

“You lot are all just jealous,” Bucky sniffs.

“We’re thankful,” Monty says, smiling a little. “Takes someone with the patience of a saint to put up with an idiot like you.”

“And you being with Steve means you’re not yapping about how much you _want_ to be with him,” Morita pipes up.

Bucky resents that. He knows he wasn’t that bad.

Except for all the times in which he was.

“Is this gangin’ up on Barnes day or what?”

“To me everyday is ganging up on Barnes day,” Dum Dum grins, and tips his hat at Bucky when Bucky growls.

“Takes someone with the patience of a saint to put up with all of _you_ ,” Bucky mutters under his breath, but he knows they all hear him. They all confirm as much when they laugh. “Where are Dernier and Jones?”

“Delivery,” Monty replies. “Banner’s chairs were done, and you know how often he goes through them.”

Bucky nods.

Bruce Banner is a troll and Bruce has a temper and Bruce is probably responsible for about 40% of their income. Be it wood or metal, he usually ends up breaking it.

Bucky and the Howlies own a carpentry shop. They’ve always been good with their hands, and after drifting from job to job after they came back from the war, they found what they were good for: woodworking.

Bucky never, in a million years, thought he’d find peace creating something. Either it be a built-in or a nice chair or a small music box. It’s soothing, carving and shaping. He can even use his claws, sometimes.

That’s not their only skill. Each of them has their own specialty, but in the trade, everyone ends up picking up a little bit of everything. Metal forging, glassblowing, electric work, basic plumbing. After fifty years on the job, they can all build a deck, install windows, and wire someone’s house.

“What else do we have for today?” Bucky asks, fishing a hair tie out of his pocket and putting his hair up in a bun.

“We need to finish the office desks for Nelson and Murdock, the chest for Stark, and the cabinets for Phillips. Then we can get to the new orders and, if there’s time, we can talk about the cabin,” Morita rattled off. “And Natasha called. Clint accidentally shot an arrow through her window again and she needs it fixed.”

“Of course he did,” Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

Dum Dum claps his hands together. “You heard the Sarge!”

“I’m not a Sergeant anymore, _Timothy_ ,” Bucky says, baring his teeth in a smile.

Dum Dum just grins back.

 

****

 

It’s soothing, woodwork.

Carving shapes into a piece of wood, turning it into something, making it pretty.

Bucky can spend an entire day focusing on small details, using his claws when he wants, smoothing wood to his liking.

It’s soothing, woodwork.

Wood doesn’t bleed when Bucky cuts it, doesn’t scream when Bucky claws it, doesn’t fight back when Bucky carves it.

It’s soothing, woodwork.

Because it isn’t war and because it isn’t bloody.

 

****

 

Bucky is good at both.

 

****

 

“You coming with us to _Smoke & Lightning_?” Gabe asks, wiping sweat from his forehead with a piece of cloth.

“Sure am,” Bucky nods, taking off his protective glasses and throwing them on a nearby table.

It’s been a long day, but it’s been a productive one and they deserve a reward. Even if Bucky’s thoughts follow more alongs the lines of _Steve_ and not _alcohol_ as a way to celebrate a good working day.

Bucky’s changed, these past four months.

He likes to think it’s for the better.

“You bringing Steve?”

“Sure he is,” Morita answers for Bucky, lips tipped up. “When hasn’t he, the past four months?”

“Not this again,” Bucky groans.

“Bucky,” Dum Dum starts, and there’s nothing teasing about his voice this time. It makes Bucky pay attention. “You know we’re happy for you.”

Bucky swallows and shifts in his seat, because he does. “Yeah, Dugan, I know.”

“All we ever wanted, after we crawled out of that hell hole in Austria,” Dum Dum continues, “was to have a little bit of happiness and peace back in our lives.”

“Tim―”

“I ain’t finished, Bucky,” Dum Dum points a finger at him. “You helped us all get that, buddy. You helped us during our bad times, and you kept us together during our worse times. We were brothers already before we were made, but then you made us pack. And we all know you didn’t have an easy time of it.”

“That’s not―”

“We know it, Barnes,” Dum Dum says. “The darkness inside us is darker and deeper in you. And we’re damn happy that you found someone who gives you a piece of yourself back.”

Bucky ducks his head, blinks, and clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Dum Dum says, nudging Bucky’s foot with his own. “That’s what I’m here for, to beat some sense into all of you.”

“That must be hard, since the five of us put together have more sense than _you_.”

It’s weak, as far as jokes go, but it serves to lighten the mood and get the Howlies to stop staring at him.

Bucky knows Dum Dum is right.

They all have darkness inside them, but Bucky has a little more than most.

That’s what happens when you’re a trained killer and that’s what happens when someone decides to turn you into a weapon.

It twists you up inside.

They all have darkness inside him, but Bucky has a little more than most.

And now he also has Steve, who curves that darkness into light.

 

****

 

Bucky might have made them pack, but the Howlies let him.

Bucky might have made them pack, but the Howlies let him and gave Bucky a family to belong to.

It's not a bad trade, in the end.

Even if Bucky wants to shoot them all in the ass sometimes.

 

****

 

Steve has an office.

It's tucked between a flower shop and bookstore and one might miss it if they're not paying attention. That's what happens to Bucky, the first time he picks Steve up from work, much to his embarrassment.

He's a wolf, a tracker, a sniper.

It still takes him two turns around the block and a phone call to Steve before he finds the small wooden door that leads to Steve's place of work. Steve is leaning against it, a smirk playing at his lips.

"You won't say anything if you know what's good for you," Bucky threatens, and Steve's smirk widens.

"Never claimed to know what's good for me," he says, shrugging one shoulder.

Yes, Bucky knows.

It takes a special kind of someone to let themselves be courted by a wolf.

It's both a blessing and a curse, Steve's reckless behavior.

Bucky doesn't mind it much, at least not now that he's there to watch Steve's six.

 

****

 

Bucky doesn't get lost anymore, on his way to Steve's office.

But he still shivers as he walks through the door and past Steve's protection wards, Steve's magic brushing against his skin.

Steve's office is small and cozy, if a bit cluttered. It smells of old books and rain, of dust and earth, of smoke and blood. It has a pair of comfy chairs and a desk, a shelf full of books and plants, and Steve's art work littering the walls.

Bucky likes it.

"I'll be with you in a second," Steve says from someplace under his desk, only visible from the waist down.

"Take your time, darling. I'm rather enjoyin' the view," Bucky teases, eyes glued to the sliver of inked skin showing above Steve's waistband.

Steve wiggles his ass, making his shirt ride up even more.

Bucky laughs and licks his lips.

"Watcha doin'?" Bucky asks, peering down over the table.

"Carving," Steve explains. "Reinforcing wards. Soon I'll be bleeding some."

Bucky hums, understanding. "Better be just a little."

Blood magic has its advantages but, like everything else, also has its downsides.

It's stronger, but it costs more.

It's powerful, but you must pay a price.

Usually the sacrifice and pain work as currency. Sometimes, the cost is your life.

"It will be," Steve says. "I know what I'm doing."

Just then Bucky smells it in the air, the rich scent of Steve's blood.

Bucky inhales and licks his lips.

A second later Steve is popping up from under his desk, cheeks pale and fingers stained red.

"Hiya, Bucky."

Bucky walks up to him, lifting Steve's hand to his mouth. Steve watches him as Bucky leans in and sucks his fingers clean, tongue working off the blood, teeth raking lightly over his skin.

Bucky likes the taste blood.

Bucky likes the taste of blood, but he can also help Steve heal more quickly. He laves at the cuts until they close, and then presses a quick kiss to the inside of Steve's wrist.

"All better," he mumbles, nuzzling at the skin.

"Thanks," Steve says, tilting his head up so he can get to Bucky's mouth.

Their kiss is short and sweet and metallic.

When Bucky pulls back, there's a smudge of red on the corner of Steve's mouth.

Bucky smiles and licks Steve's lips.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asks him. "The Howlies were asking for you."

Steve snorts, but goes to grab his coat. "Do they know you call them that?"

"Nope," Bucky shakes his head. "And they never will, if you ever wanna get my mouth on you again."

"Like you could last longer than a day," Steve says, smiling cheekily.

Bucky presses his lips in a thin line.

He wonders when people stopped taking his threats seriously. Then he remembers this is Steve he's talking about.

"Here, let me," Bucky says, pulling at the lapels of Steve's winter coat and smoothing it down. He does the buttons up slowly, from the bottom up to Steve's collar, making sure to bundle him up tight.

"I ain't a little kid," Steve grumbles, curling his fingers around Bucky's wrists. He doesn't push him away, though.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Bucky snorts. "If you were, Natasha would have turned you into dinner the minute she caught you wondering around in the woods."

Steve freezes, eyes going wide as he looks up at Bucky. "She doesn't really do that, does she?"

Bucky blinks. "No. It was just a joke."

Bucky thinks.

Bucky _hopes_.

There is a reason children are discouraged to walk around in the forest. Natasha might be one of them, but she isn't the most dangerous.

"Oh, good," Steve breathes out. "I like Natasha. Wouldn't want to stand against her in a fight."

"And you would, wouldn't you?" Bucky murmurs, holding Steve's chin between his fingers.

Steve shrugs. "It's what I do."

"You're not everyone's shield, Steve," Bucky says, jaw clenched. "It's not your job to save the entire world."

"Not the entire world," Steve argues. "Just a few people."

Bucky sighs, resting their foreheads together. "I've got my hands full with you, don't I?"

"You can let go at any time, Bucky," Steve tells him, voice soft.

Bucky can't.

"You're stuck with me, pal," Bucky says, rubbing their noses together. "'Till the end of the line."

Steve kisses him, just a quick brush of lips, barely there before it's over. "I'll make you regret that, eventually."

"I wouldn't count on it." Bucky grabs the red wool scarf from its place in the back of Steve's chair and loops it three times around Steve's neck. "Now you're good to go."

Steve sighs, but holds Bucky's hand and tangles their fingers together. His hand is warm and scarred and fits just right against Bucky's palm.

Bucky regrets a lot of things he did in his life.

Being with Steve Rogers will never be one of them.

 

****

 

"Look who we have here!"

"You saw me last week, Dugan," Steve rolls his eyes, but accepts Dum Dum's hug when he bends down and throws his arms around Steve's shoulder.

Bucky tries not to bristle and growl and bite Dum Dum's hands off.

He succeeds at all three.

There must be a particularly murderous look in his eyes, though, because when Dum Dum glances at him from over Steve's shoulder, he grins and oh-so-slowly backs away.

"You're better company than these idiots," Dum Dum replies. "I miss you when you're not around."

Bucky tries not to bristle and growl and bite Dum Dum's hands off.

He succeeds at only two.

And then swallows back a growl when Steve turns around to glare at him.

"You mean you miss me when I'm not here to stop Dernier from cheating at poker and cleaning you out," Steve corrects Dum Dum.

" _À la vôtre_!" Dernier yells, tipping his glass up and taking a sip.

"You should know better by now." Gabe claps Dum Dum on the shoulder. "It's been over seventy years."

"A man can dream."

"A man can also come here and play some pool," Morita says, grabbing the back of Dum Dum's coat and tugging. "Johnson and Murray challenged us to a game."

"Well," Dum Dum says, puffing out his chest. "It's time to show those two what the Commandos can do."

"Don't kill anyone!" Bucky yells after them.

"You know me, Sarge," Dum Dum throws over his shoulder. "I make no promises!"

Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. "We're going to end the night with blood on our hands, aren't we?"

"Only if it's a good night," Monty says, giving Bucky a wink.

Bucky shakes his head, fond and exasperated. "Yell my name if you need me to come save your sorry asses."

"We can save ourselves!" all the Howlies shout.

And Bucky, well…

Bucky doesn’t doubt them for a second.

 

****

 

They find a table after getting their drinks from Darcy, one of Thor's few human bartenders. She's sweet and she's funny and she's a flirt.

Bucky likes her. He doesn't like many humans, not anymore. It might also help that the one time Bucky called her ‘doll’, Darcy almost cut three of his fingers off.

Darcy's sweet and she's funny and she's a flirt. She is not helpless.

“Hm, I needed that,” Steve says, setting his glass down and licking his lips.

There’s some color to his cheeks again, his face not to so pale against the red of Bucky’s scarf. He still looks a bit worn out, tired. Bucky makes a note not to stay at the bar for too long.

He also runs a hand through Steve’s hair, palm settling on the back of Steve’s neck, and pulls him forward, until their mouths touch.

Steve tastes sweet and sharp and like everything Bucky has ever wanted for himself.

“And I needed that,” Bucky murmurs, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip.

“You’re a real sweet talker, Bucky,” Steve says with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just the best for my best guy,” Bucky drawls, and then he’s the one smiling when Steve leans in and steals a kiss.

 

****

 

“I’m offended, Barnes. It took me two weeks to get that scarf done right and you gave it away to Steve?”

“I didn’t give it away,” Bucky huffs, pushing a chair so Riley can slowly lower himself into it. “Just let him borrow it for a while.”

“Steve went out without weather appropriate clothes again?” Sam asks, taking the empty seat beside Riley and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Or did you just want him to smell _more_ like you than he already does?”

Sam is Riley’s and Sam is one of Steve’s best friends. He’s one of the strongest and bravest people Bucky knows, and Bucky’s had the pleasure of serving with all of the Howling Commandos. _And_ he’s dating one Steve Rogers.

Sam is also extremely good at brewing potions and making balms and salves, which Bucky thinks it’s kind of weird for a bird. He knows _he_ wouldn’t be able to cook anything that had parts of _wolves_ in the recipe. But Sam doesn’t have that problem, and Sam is one of the best, and Bucky always makes sure to keep one of his healing pastes at hand whenever the full moon draws near.

Sam is Riley’s and Sam is one of Steve’s best friends. That doesn’t mean Bucky doesn’t want to hit him right now.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky mumbles, even though he can feel the blood rush to his cheeks.

Because Sam is right. Everyone being able to scent just how taken Steve is is absolutely half the reason why Bucky wrapped him up in that scarf.

“And Steve is _right here_ ,” Steve answers, ignoring Sam and then turning to Riley. “I’m also offended you didn’t knit _me_ anything.”

And the best part? Steve _knows_.

He knows and he understands and he’s not bothered by Bucky’s little display of possessiveness. He actually enjoys it, considering the way he grabs an end of the scarf and actually rubs it over his cheek.

A silent dare for Sam to say something about it.

Sam doesn’t. He just looks smug.

And Bucky is _so in love_.

“I’m making you a Christmas sweater,” Riley grins, waggling his eyebrows. “It has tiny stars and tiny wolves all over it. That’s why it’s taking me a while, the pattern’s hard to get down.”

Steve blinks. “Tiny wolves?”

“We all know you’d carry Barnes around in your pocket if you could,” Sam tells him, and Bucky’s stomach flips when Steve blushes. “You’re practically glued at the hip.”

“Can’t say I mind that,” Bucky shrugs one shoulder, placing a hand on top of Steve’s knee and squeezing.

In fact, walking around in Steve’s pocket all day sounds like a good time.

“Didn’t think you would,” Sam winks.

“I need new friends,” Steve says to no one in particular.

Sam and Riley laugh.

They all know a lie when they hear one and there’s no bigger lie than the one Steve has just told.

The day Steve ditches his friends is the day Bucky leaves his pack behind. None of those things will ever happen.

Just then they hear a yelp, followed by a crash, the sound of liquid hitting something, and Clint’s voice saying, “Aw, drinks.”

They all turn to him, who’s standing in the middle of the bar and holding two empty glasses, the front of his shirt and pants dripping wet. There’s a tipped chair on the floor by his side.

“Barton,” Natasha says, showing up behind him.

Clint takes a deep breath. “Okay. This looks bad.”

Bucky swallows a laugh.

He’s heard that one before.

“How can someone who’s a _hawk_ be that much of a disaster?” Sam asks, incredulous.

“Talent,” Bucky says dryly.

Or bad luck. With Clint, one never knows.

Thor is already talking to Natasha and Clint, and with a flip of his hand the chair is already back into place and Clint’s clothes are dry.

It’s a handy thing.

“Can you do that?” Bucky asks Steve, tilting his head to Thor.

Steve shakes his head. “I can put things back into place, but I can’t make anything disappear.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Riley says, and when Steve raises an eyebrow at him he adds, “We all know the first thing you’d banish is Sam’s tiger spandex shorts.”

“The world doesn’t deserve to see that, Riley,” Steve answers. “We’d all go blind.”

“Sam,” Bucky turns to him, fighting back a smile. “Tiger spandex shorts? Really?”

“My man likes ‘em,” Sam shrugs.

“You bet I do.” Riley knocks their knees together. “They make your ass look like fuckin’ sin.”

Steve looks up at Bucky, expression pained but resigned.

Bucky knocks their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s. “Not even all the money in the world would get me to wear spandex for you, just so you know.”

“Don’t think I would want you to,” Steve admits. “I could be convinced to wear tights, though.”

Bucky blinks.

And then his eyes glaze over a little.

“James, you smell like you need to leave.”

Bucky doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. Natasha, Clint, Sam and Riley are all staring at him with unimpressed looks on their faces.

Bucky clears his throat and moves away from Steve, leaning back into his chair.

Steve, who is grinning and looking pretty pleased with himself. The little shit.

Bucky is _so in love_.

“I’m good,” Bucky says, grabbing his glass and drinking.

“Are you really?” Natasha tilts her head to the side, considering.

“Never better.”

He feels lips at his cheek, then, warm and soft and quick. When he turns his nose bumps against Steve’s.

“Me too,” Steve tells him, finding Bucky’s mouth, tongue flicking in between his lips.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Sam sighs. “ _This_ or all the pining these two were doing before they got their shit together.”

“The pining,” Natasha, Clint, and Riley all answer.

“I never congratulated you for that, by the way,” Clint says when Bucky and Steve break the kiss. “And nice going with the deer, Bucky. Never thought you’d do it.”

Bucky makes a face, because it wasn’t exactly a conscious choice. “Thanks, Clint.”

“How did you and Natasha get together?” Sam asks. “I don’t think you ever told us.”

Bucky can’t help but tense a bit. He’s never heard the story and he knows how Natasha feels about questions.

She and Clint share a look, until Clint says, “I shot an arrow and it landed in her yard. She picked it up.”

“That’s it?” Sam narrows his eyes.

Natasha smiles a small smile, without showing teeth. “I am not a frog princess and Clint is not an Ivan, but our fate is our fate. It can’t be escaped.”

“An Ivan?” Riley mouths to Sam and Steve.

“Fairy tales,” Steve whispers back. “Russian.”

Riley nods in understanding.

Bucky does too, inside. He now knows more about Natasha than he did before.

“You believe in fate?” Bucky can’t help but ask, since it seems Nat is feeling generous.

“Don’t you?” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “You tied a red string around Steve’s neck, after all.”

They all glance at the red wool scarf Steve’s wearing.

“Oh,” Bucky says, the breath knocked out of him.

It doesn’t scare him, as much as he thinks it should. It’s just another thing that confirms what he already knows. Steve calls to him, both to human and wolf alike, and Bucky is always happy to answer, always happy to find him, always happy to have him close.

Tying their fates together doesn’t seem scary when Bucky thinks someone already did that for them before they were born.

And Steve must think much the same thing, when he undoes two of the loops around his neck and faces Bucky. They stare at each other, and Bucky can feel the wool brush against his skin as Steve wraps the red wool around his neck.

“Good?” Steve’s breath ghosts over Bucky’s parted lips.

Bucky licks at them, his tongue touching the swell of Steve’s bottom lip. “Good.”

“‘Til the end of the line, huh?”

“You got that right, sweetheart,” Bucky answers, and he knows his eyes are gold and his smile is sharper than usual.

Tying their fates together doesn’t seem scary when Steve is the one to do it.

 

****

 

“What else can’t you do?” Bucky asks Steve, fingers trailing over the back of Steve’s neck.

“I can’t give life to dead things,” Steve tells him, staring down at his almost empty glass. “Or create something out of nothing.”

“You can only work with things that already exist.”

“Even in that I have limits, but yes,” Steve nods. “I can’t change someone’s appearance. If you were to lose an arm, I would be able to stop the bleeding and make sure you lived. But I wouldn’t be able to grow you another limb out of thin air.”

Bucky blinks. “I’ll make sure not to do that, then.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Steve says, fingers touching the knuckles of Bucky’s left hand.

 

****

 

“I am a very good friend.”

Bucky stops halfway to bringing his glass to his lips, Thor’s Asgardian mead honey-colored and glinting under the low light. He looks back at Natasha, who’s sitting beside him at the table and cracking peanuts. She doesn’t eat them, just places them on top of  a napkin and slides them over to Clint when he’s not looking.

“You are,” Bucky nods, because that’s mostly true.

Natasha is a good friend, but she likes to threaten as much as she likes to reward. One minute she might be giving you advice, but in the next one she might be keeping something important from you.

Natasha is a good friend, except for the times when she’s not.

“You should thank me.”

“Thank you,” Bucky immediately replies, taking a sip of his drink. He knows better than to argue with Natasha when she asks for something, especially when that’s something that won’t hurt. He can still ask, though. “What am I thanking you for?”

“For being a good friend, James,” Natasha says slowly, patronizing, like she’s disappointed. “And also for making you happy.”

Bucky blinks.

That one’s new.

“For making me happy,” Bucky repeats, testing the words in his mouth. He tries to find meaning in them, but fails.

“Yes,” Natasha says, lips tipping up. “You took my warning to heart, once in a blue moon. You listened, even when you didn’t understand. Now you have Steve, and Steve makes you happy. You’re welcome.”

She looks enormously pleased with herself, cracking peanut shells in between fingers and staring at him.

Natasha is a good friend, even when she’s taking credit for things that aren’t hers to take credit for.

Natasha is a good friend, but Bucky still wants to crack _her_ between _his_ fingertips, sometimes.

And it’s involuntary, the way Bucky’s eyes search for and find Steve at the bar.

Steve is with Thor and his human girlfriend, Jane, his fingers drawing shapes on the wooden counter between them as he speaks. He went to grab a drink, but now they’re talking. Or at least Jane is talking, gesturing wildly as she looks from Steve’s hands to his face and asks what Bucky knows must be a million different questions.

Jane’s curious and she’s human and she’s dangerous. Knowledge has its own kind of power, and they all know Jane has it to spare. It’s the reason Thor is so enamoured with her: she’s intelligent, and her intelligence isn’t boring.

Before Jane, Thor had been bored for a very long time.

It’s the curse of the gods, the passage of time, more than it is of humans and others. Thor is a god and Thor is timeless and Thor is in love with a human woman. It would be a tragedy, but Thor is a god and gods can do as they wish. That includes breathing a little more life into those who would die to soon.

Bucky is glad, in moments like that, that he still has about two hundred years to go.

As if knowing he’s been watched, Steve stops and looks up. Bucky doesn’t doubt Steve could feel the weight of his gaze, knowing just how aware they are of each other at all times. Bucky lifts his glass and winks at him, not fighting back a smile when he sees Steve huff and duck his head, the tips of his ears turning red.

Not as red as the scarf that’s now wrapped only around Bucky’s neck, but close.

Bucky wants to stand and walk up to him, wants to put his arms around Steve’s waist, wants to put his mouth on Steve’s flushed skin.

Instead, he turns to Natasha and says, once again, “Thank you, Nat.”

Natasha nods, sliding a napkin full of cracked peanuts to Clint when he isn’t looking, and answers, “I am a very good friend.”

 

****

 

The raven keeps staring at Bucky.

It tilts its head, beady eyes entirely focused on him, its black wings fluttering every few seconds. It has a particular _look_ in his eyes, beak opening and closing whenever Bucky blinks, as if it wants to ask for something.

Bucky would think it’s weird, but after four months of having it around, he’s used to it.

He can feel Steve’s fingers tracing shapes over his chest, nails digging in every once in a while. Steve’s mouth is pressed against his shoulder in a kiss, hot and wet, his hair brushing Bucky’s ear.

“Tickles,” Bucky murmurs when Steve’s nails rake oh-so-lightly right under his left nipple.

“Sorry,” Steve says, not sounding sorry at all. He also doesn’t stop what he’s doing, fingers now on Bucky’s stomach, making their way down. Bucky shudders, but doesn’t bat Steve’s hand away.

“Said it tickles,” Bucky says, voice laced with sleep.

Steve presses his palm flat right above Bucky’s belly button and then slides it up his chest, stopping when he reaches Bucky’s heart. He snuggles closer, throwing a leg over Bucky’s hip, his head safely tucked under Bucky’s chin.

Bucky breathes in deep.

His entire room smells of Steve, and of himself, and of both them together.

Blood and earth and moss and rain and frost.

His own little paradise on earth, made up of four walls, a bed, a mountain of pillows and blankets, and Steve.

It’s been four months.

Bucky knows they’ll have forever.


	3. shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter! aside from more sex, that is. oh, and also it being the one before it all ends. :D
> 
> and thanks again to acuisle, but this time for talking to me about cabins and furniture and wood :*

There’s a hole on the ceiling of Steve’s house.

It is big and it is messy and it shows the afternoon sky, the big white clouds passing by as the wind shifts. Bucky stares up at it, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed thin.

There’s a hole on the ceiling of Steve’s house.

Bucky doesn’t know how it got there. He’s not sure he wants to find out. Whatever the reason is, there’s a thirty-seventy chance it will make him angry.

“I should probably find something to cover it,” Steve mutters, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“That’s probably a good a idea,” Bucky nods. “I can call the guys over to help.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the splintered wood and the blue sky, but he can hear Steve taking a deep breathing and letting it out slowly just fine.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I’m not sure I want to, Steve,” Bucky admits. “Knowin’ you, this probably happened because you were doin’ something stupid.”

“I was _not_ ,” Steve protests, but deflates when Bucky turns to him and gives him a long look. “I had it on the ropes.”

“Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have a huge _hole_ in your ceiling.”

Steve makes a face at him, but when all Bucky does is stare back he huffs. “Fine, so I might have misjudged things a little.”

“Might have,” Bucky deadpans.

Steve glares at him. “ _Did_. Is that better, Sergeant?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to make a face now, lips pulling down in a grimace. “Don’t call me that.”

“Yessir,” Steve replies, just to be a little shit.

Bucky considers for a moment leaving the hole in the ceiling uncovered and Steve left to deal with the damage once it rained or animals got inside his house. He dismisses the thought just as quickly.

Steve is his and Bucky has his six. Even when Steve is being a pain in the ass.

Maybe _especially_ when Steve is being a pain in the ass.

“You can’t stay here with your ceiling like that,” Bucky says, eyes going back to the hole. “It ain’t safe.”

“I could go to Sam and Riley’s,” Steve shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck. “Or just rent a room somewhere.”

“Could also come stay with me,” Bucky offers, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Bet you’d have more fun at my place than at the birds’s nest or some strange motel room.”

Steve snorts. “Sam would eat your eyes out if he heard you calling their home a _nest_.”

Bucky can’t see why.

Sam and Riley are birds and their home is their nest. The same way Bucky is a wolf and his cabin is his den.

“So you’ll come stay with me?” Bucky asks, brushing his nose against Steve’s hairline, inhaling the scent of him.

“I can get by on my own,” Steve murmurs, resting a hand on Bucky’s stomach.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs. He’d think that after nine months Steve would have learned. “You don’t have to.”

Steve looks up, eyes blue and bright, and his lips curl up at the corners. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his mouth before pushing him in the direction on the bedroom. “Now go pack your things.”

Steve tilts his head up for another kiss and goes, but not before glancing back at Bucky from over his shoulder and saying, “Yessir!”

 

****

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [9:42 AM]**

_are any of you free to stop by steve’s?_

_and bring something to patch up a hole in his ceiling_

 

**Monty @ Howling Commandos [9:45 AM]**

_Yes. What happened?_

 

**Dum Dum @ Howling Commandos [9:45 AM]**

_YES_

_WAS IT A SEX ACCIDENT_

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [9:45 AM]**

_dum dum no!!!!!_

_it was a magic thing i think_

_he won’t tell me_

_but i can’t leave his place like this_

 

**Gabe @ Howling Commandos [9:47 AM]**

_I can’t make it._

_Dernier had too much to drink again. He’s fine, just out of commision for today. You guys know what he’s like._

 

**Morita @ Howling Commandos [9:47 AM]**

_Me too._

_Is Steve ok?_

_Gabe, we got it. I’ll bring some meat later today._

 

**DUM DUM @ Howling Commandos [9:48 AM]**

_OF COURSE HE IS_

_OTHERWISE BUCKY WOULD BE FREAKING OUT_

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [9:49 AM]**

_yes he’s fine we’re both fine_

_he’s going to stay at mine’s until the hole is fixed_

 

**Gabe @ Howling Commandos [9:49 AM]**

_Thanks, Jim._

_Bucky, at your house in town or the woods?_

 

**Bucky @ Howling Commandos [9:50 AM]**

_we’ll see_

_and thanks guys_

 

**Dum Dum @ Howling Commandos [9:50 PM]**

_NO PROBLEM_

**❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤**

*

Bucky has a house near the carpentry shop, but he also owns a cabin in the woods. He has for the past forty years.

It is small, but it is his, and he and the pack use it as a place to rest after running and hunting and killing during the full moons.

It is not a home, not yet.

That’s going to change soon.

 

****

 

Bucky stumbles across it when he’s running, not as a wolf but as himself. The woods are quiet and cold and dark, the trees melting into the shadows as Bucky passes them.

He almost misses it, the cabin. He would have for certain if it wasn’t for the smell rotten wood and stale water. It sits small and unassuming in the middle of the forest, trees standing tall and surrounding it. It is also empty, except for the small bodies of dead things that fell prey to others and fallen leaves.

Bucky likes it.

“It belongs to no one, you know. Only to the forest.”

Bucky growls, his muscles coiling tight and his hackles rising. He turns in the direction of the voice and crouches down, letting his teeth and claws out, ready for attack.

“Easy, James. Between you and me, I have the sharper teeth.”

The thing about Natasha is that she’s a predator. And as good predators do, she never lets prey sense when she’s around.

Bucky knows that to Natasha he is prey.

He’s not very comfortable with that.

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, getting up and brushing off leaves and dirt from his knees. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking,” Natasha answers, eyes narrowing. “I find it very peaceful here.”

Bucky wants to say that he did too, before she snuck up on him. He also knows she’s not very found of questions, and he very rudely just asked her one. But Natasha’s warning is still ringing in his ears: between them, she’s the one with sharper teeth.

“Well, okay,” is what he ends up with instead.

“It belongs to no one, you know,” Natasha repeats, eyes flicking to the cabin. “It hasn’t for a very long time.”

“I want to ask you how you know that,” Bucky tells her, hesitant to come right out and ask.

“Go ahead,” Natasha nods, amusement clear in her eyes.

“How do you know that?”

Natasha’s answer, when it comes, is in the form of a smile. Her teeth glint in the low light, long and sharp and deadly.

Bucky swallows, and says, “I get it.”

He wishes he didn’t.

“You can have it, if you wish,” Natasha says. “I know you’ll take good care of it and make good use of it.”

Bucky blinks at her, because that seems to easy. “You know something,” he says, licking his lips.

“I know many things, James,” Natasha replies, something Bucky will get used to hearing for the next forty years. “You should pay attention.”

“I will,” Bucky finds himself promising, gaze falling back to the small cabin. “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Natasha says, and then throws something at him.

Bucky catches it out of reflex, a pair of keys cold against his palm. “Oh.”

“Just be careful,” Natasha says. “You aren’t the scariest being living in these woods.”

Bucky watches her walk away.

Natasha doesn’t leave any tracks in the mud.

 

****

 

Bucky has a house near the carpentry shop, but he also owns a cabin in the woods. He has for the past forty years.

Natasha gave it to him, as a gift, after she ate the previous owner whole.

It is small, but it is his, and Bucky promises himself he’ll fix it up, make it livable, build out from it.

It is not a home, not yet.

But that changes when Bucky meets Steve.

 

****

 

Bucky considers taking Steve to the cabin, but something tells him it is not the time. Instead they end up at Bucky’s house in town, the place Steve is already used to being in and the space Bucky is used to sharing with him.

Bucky’s kitchen smells like lemon and ginger and chocolate. He fixes two cups of tea, one for himself and one for Steve, and grabs the last two slices of cake leftover from Riley’s birthday bash last week.

Steve is on Bucky’s couch, legs folded under him. He has Bucky’s quilt wrapped around his shoulders, and his arms holding on to one of Bucky’s many throw pillows.

He looks comfortable and like he belongs. In between Bucky’s things, wrapped inside them, surrounded by them.

Bucky’s heart twists.

“Here you go,” Bucky says, leaning down so Steve can relieve him from one of the mugs and one the plates.

Steve waits for Bucky to sit down right by his side so he can place a kiss on his jaw. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

“You bringing me tea and cake?” Steve asks, amused, making a show of eating a huge piece of chocolate cake. His cheeks bulge, lips now smeared with chocolate frosting.

Bucky is _so in love_.

And he can’t resist ducking his head and licking at Steve’s mouth, sweetness clinging to his tongue. Steve snorts a laugh but doesn’t push Bucky away, just wrinkles his nose and lets Bucky do as he wishes.

So, _so_ fucking in love.

He’d be disgusted with himself if it hadn’t taken him almost ninety years and a lot of blood and pain to feel this way.

“I meant the cake,” Bucky answers when he pulls back, satisfied. “That’s the last slice you’re stuffin’ your face with.”

Steve takes a sip of his tea, eyes glinting. “I’m surprised it lasted this long.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, pal,” Bucky lies, at the same time he scoops up all the frosting on the cake with a fork and stuffs it in his mouth.

Bucky’s got a sweet tooth to end all sweet teeth.

Natasha knows it, the Commandos know it, and Steve knows it most of all.

If it’s sweet and doesn’t seem like it’s going to kill him Bucky probably has it in his mouth. Which is what he likes to tell himself whenever he’s kissing Steve or sucking Steve or licking Steve. Because to Bucky, Steve is the sweetest of them all.

“So you don’t want the rest of my cake?”

Bucky glances at him, eyes narrowed. Steve’s never one to turn down a treat himself, so the fact that he’s trying right now is suspicious.

“If you’re trying to bribe me, you’re gonna have better luck with sex,” Bucky informs him.

Steve blinks big and innocent eyes at him. “Why would I try to bribe you?”

Bucky isn’t fooled for a second.

“So I don’t ask what you were doing that ended up with half of your house blown off.”

“It wasn’t half of my house,” Steve grumbles.

“Not the point, Stevie.”

Steve glances up at Bucky from under his lashes, licking his lips. He also shifts so Bucky’s quilt falls from one of his shoulders, the move making the collar of his shirt stretch a little, revealing a sliver of inked skin.

Bucky eats more cake and stares impassively at him. He knows what Steve is trying to do and it’s _not gonna work_. Bucky is a soldier and he is a wolf and he is stronger than this.

Steve picks up his chocolate covered fork and brings it to his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to lick at the frosting. He makes a little pleased sound in the back of his throat, a breathy moan, and lets his eyes fall shut.

Bucky forgets his cake and swallows. He is a soldier and he is a wolf and he is stronger than this.

Or he _was_. You know, until he was faced with one Steve Rogers trying to seduce him.

Bucky’s never been strong when it comes to Steve and he’s not going to start now.

He plucks the fork from between Steve’s fingers and sets it and both of their plates on the coffee table, right in between their tea mugs. He also ignores the smug smile Steve now wears on his face.

“Just so you know, this ain’t always gonna work,” Bucky tells him, unwrapping the quilt from around Steve and throwing it over the back of the couch.

“Whatever you say, Buck,” Steve says, still grinning.

“I mean it.” Bucky pushes Steve against the throw pillows, settling in between his spread legs. “One day you’ll point those gorgeous blues at me and it won’t do a _thing_.”

Steve just keeps grinning, his hands now slipping under Bucky’s shirt and sliding up and down his back.

They both know Bucky is lying.

Steve opens his mouth to probably point that out, but Bucky ducks his head and closes the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Steve opens up for him without Bucky having to ask, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to lick his way into Steve’s mouth, tasting the sweetness there. He doesn’t rush, kissing Steve slow and deep and as much as he wants.

At some point they get rid of their clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. Steve is warm under Bucky, all sharp edges and hard bones, the lines on his skin moving and swirling as they rock against each other.

Bucky finds he’ll never get tired of listening to the pleased little sounds Steve makes when they’re together like this, the breathy moans and low gasps. Bucky also never stops kissing him: his face, his neck, his lips, whatever part of Steve he can reach. And Steve, in turn, never stops touching him: his back, his ass, his hair, sneaking his hand in between them and wrapping it around both of them.

One thing Bucky’s learned about Steve is that he bruises easily. Either from bumping into things or from Bucky’s mouth. While he’s not particularly fond of the first, he loves the latter. Bucky is always happy to oblige.

Seeing his marks on Steve will never be something he doesn’t enjoy.

And that’s what Bucky does, as Steve brings them closer and closer to the edge. He nips and bites and sucks at Steve’s collarbones, his chest, his bony shoulders. He puts himself on Steve’s skin in color, red and purple, there for Steve to see.

He also paints Steve’s stomach and chest and hand white when he comes, Steve following him soon after, both of them now sticky and sweaty and gross. They smell divine, though, if Bucky says so himself as he hides his face in the crook between Steve’s neck and shoulder and breathes in.

They smell, to Bucky, like home must feel like.

Of comfort and safety and love and like that’s exactly where you belong.

But that still doesn’t stop Bucky from raising his head, staring down at Steve, and asking, “So what were you doing when you blew a hole in your ceiling?”

 

****

 

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Bucky makes a face at Dum Dum. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Dum Dum raises his palms in front of him, giving Bucky one of his shit-eating grins. “Ain’t lookin’ at you like anything, boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” Bucky grumbles.

He hasn’t been one since the thirties, but just because Dum Dum is older he thinks he can get away with it.

“You have to admit that this is a surprise,” Morita tells him, staring at Bucky in that way of his that makes Bucky think he knows more than he should.

Knowing Morita, that’s probably through.

“It’s been almost forty years,” Bucky shrugs one shoulder, feeling uncomfortable.

“ _C'est beaucoup trop long_ ,” Dernier mumbles under his breath, although all of them hear them.

Bucky huffs. It hasn’t been _that_ long. Not in the grand scheme of things.

“I agree with Dernier,” Gabe says. “We just never thought we’d see the day.”

“It’s been almost _forty years_ ,” Bucky repeats, annoyed.

“Exactly.” Monty gives him a long look. “It’s been almost forty years since you got the cabin and you never did anything with it aside from making it livable so we could use it every full moon.”

“Even though you kept promising you’d build out from it and make it a ‘ _real home_ ,” Morita adds, and Bucky can practically _feel_ the quotation marks.

“Just never got around to it, is all,” Bucky tells them, running a hand through his hair. “But now we’re in a good place with the shop and have the extra time.”

“We’ve been in a good place with the shop since the mid-80s,” Gabe raises an eyebrow at him.

“And I think you mean _you_ have extra time to work on your cabin in the woods,” Monty pipes up.

Bucky swallows, shifting in his seat. He’s aware they’re all staring at him, expressions variating from amusement to satisfaction.

They’re all assholes. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s friends with the lot of them.

“I’m going to need help,” Bucky admits with some reluctance. “I won’t be able to do all the changes I want to without the rest of you.”

“So what you’re saying is that you need us,” Dum Dum says, and his grin gets impossibly wider.

Bucky wants to punch him in his smug face.

“Yes,” Bucky sighs. “That’s what I’m saying. You guys in?”

The Howlies all look at each other and then at Bucky, and a second later they’re all smiling and saying, “We’re in.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Morita says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

Bucky waves a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“What I want to know is,” Gabe starts, glancing at Bucky, “what _finally_ made you get off your tail and decide to build the home for yourself you’ve always talked about?”

Bucky presses his lips together, but says nothing.

Not that he needs to, when Dernier snorts and rolls his eyes and says, “ _Steve_.”

 

****

 

The Howling Commandos are all assholes. But they still help Bucky make a house out of a small cabin in the woods.

It takes time and it takes hard work and it takes Bucky buying countless rounds of drinks to all of them at _Smoke & Lightning_, but they do it.

Little by little.

They build the house Bucky has always dreamed about, the house Bucky has always wanted for himself.

Now all that’s left is make it a home.

 

****

 

“Claire had some new herbs brought in,” Steve starts, biting down on his bottom lip. “The kind that don’t grow around here.”

Bucky groans and drops his forehead against the middle of Steve’s chest. “You were mixing them, weren’t you?”

“I needed to know how they’d react,” Steve says, resting a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Or if they were good for anything.”

“You mean aside from almost melting your face off?” Bucky asks, lifting his head up and glaring at Steve.

“They didn’t melt anything,” Steve argues, glaring right back.

“They just _exploded_ ,” Bucky snipes, and then shakes his head. “I already have a Dernier in my life, I don’t need another one.”

“Oh,” Steve blinks, and there’s a gleam of interest in his eyes. “Do you think he’d like to experiment with them? I still had a couple of bags I didn’t open before it all happened.”

Bucky goes to scrub a hand over his face, but stops when he realizes it’s the sticky one.

“I’m not getting involved with this,” Bucky says. “Ask him if you wanna, but just know I won’t be rescuing either of you if something else blows up.”

“Noted,” Steve replies, lips curling up. His eyes also go to Bucky’s hand and then flick down to his own stomach and chest. “We should clean up.”

“Probably.” Bucky’s lips turn down. He likes it when they both smell of each other, but on the other hand no one likes crusted jizz on their skin.

“I’ll use your shampoo,” Steve tells him.

Dating a wolf isn’t always easy, but Steve understands..

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at that, soft and fond. “Yeah?”

“I’ll even wear one of your shirts,” Steve says, smiling back. “I’m real generous like that.”

“Sure are, sweetheart.” Bucky leans down to rub their noses together. “Going through all that trouble just for me.”

“Gotta take care of my best guy.” Steve kisses Bucky’s chin. “Keep him interested.”

Bucky nips at Steve’s bottom lip, light and quick. “‘M always interested.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, licking his lips. “So I don’t need to eat you out in the shower like I was planning to?”

Bucky freezes. Steve is looking up at him with heat and lust in his eyes, and Bucky’s mouth goes a bit dry.

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky says slowly. “In fact, I wouldn’t be opposed to you doin’ that at all.”

Steve hums, his hand moving from the back of Bucky’s neck and sliding down to Bucky’s ass. He doesn’t do anything, just lets his palm rest there, fingers almost at Bucky’s cleft.

“Good to know.”

 

****

 

And it is _so good_.

Or at least that’s what Bucky is thinking as he braces himself against the wall, the tiles cold and wet under his skin.

Or at least that’s what Bucky is thinking with Steve kneeling behind him, hands on Bucky’s ass, spreading him open.

Or at least that’s what Bucky is thinking when Steve buries his face in his ass and starts eating him out, licking at his hole, tonguing him open. Bucky doesn’t even try to keep himself from making a sound, moaning shamelessly as Steve works him with his tongue, pressing his ass back into Steve’s face.

He’s eager. So _what_?

He can also feel Steve’s magic at his fingertips, his skin hot and buzzing where Steve’s keeping him in place. It only makes everything more sensitive, Steve’s mouth and tongue on him and Steve’s hands and magic holding on to him. And it gets even better when Steve takes a hold of Bucky’s dick, curling his fingers around it, thumb flicking at the slit as he jerks Bucky off.

Bucky can only pant and gasp and moan and fuck his dick into Steve’s fist and push his ass back against Steve’s face. It takes almost no time at all for him to come, entire body tensing and vision whitening as he spills over Steve’s hand, getting come on the tiles in front of him.

He slumps against the wall, forehead pressed against it. He can sense Steve getting up from his knees, but that’s mostly because a few seconds later Steve is plastered against his back, arms coming around his waist.

“You good?” Steve asks, voice rough and wrecked and smug.

Bucky can only make a pathetic little sound in the back of his throat, something he thinks would be a purr if he wasn’t a wolf.

He hears Steve laugh, feels it against his spine, Steve’s puffs of breath on his wet skin.

He can also feel Steve’s dick bumping the back of his thigh, hard and leaking. Bucky shuffles in place, pressing his thighs together and moving around until Steve’s dick slides in between them.

“Oh,” Steve says, lips to Bucky’s spine. “Like this?”

Steve punctuates the question with a thrust of his hips, cock bumping against Bucky’s balls.

“Like this,” Bucky confirms, arching his back. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

And Steve starts moving, his mouth open and wet on Bucky’s back, thrusting into the space between Bucky’s thighs until he comes. And then he’s the one to slump, drained, practically on top of Bucky.

“You good?” Bucky can’t help but ask.

His only answer is the shape of Steve’s teeth on his skin.

And it is _so good_.

 

****

 

“I wondered how long it would take you to do something like this.”

Bucky drops the hammer he is holding and steps out of the current mess of wood and dirt that is his cabin. None of the Howlies stop what they’re doing, just lift their hands and wave at Natasha, who’s standing at the end of the path that leads to where they are.

She is smiling, close lipped, her hair red like flames and shining in the sun.

Bucky stops a few short feet from her, knowing he smells of sweat and hard work and maybe a little to good for someone who eats people and beings alike.

“But you knew I would do it,” Bucky gives voice to what she hasn’t, shaking his head.

Nat knows a lot more about Bucky’s life than he does. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should. It is still a bit unsettling, though.

“I am myself, James,” Natasha says, unapologetic. “Of course I did.”

Bucky nods. “Do you have any advice?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

Bucky does. They’ve been playing this game for decades, and Bucky knows Natasha demands payment for information sooner or later. His luck is that payment usually involves him cleaning her house, fixing things, or making her food.

“I’ll hunt something juicy for you,” Bucky offers. It’s not something he’s ever done before, not for anyone outside of the pack, but Natasha likes meat and Bucky thinks she’ll appreciate it.

Or maybe not.

Natasha blinks, and then her smile widens a bit. “Not for me, you won’t,” she says, and the look she gives Bucky makes him want to turn around and flee. “You’ll clean my basement and pay for my drinks for the next month.”

“Deal,” Bucky says, offering a hand.

Natasha takes it, her skin almost too hot for the touch. “My advice is black locust and beech wood.”

Bucky frowns, considering. It’s not the kind of wood he usually works with, but he knows they can look good in a home. They’re also just getting started with the cabin renovations so Bucky knows it won’t be a problem to add those to the plan.

“Okay,” Bucky says, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replies, looking pleased with herself.

Bucky wonders why.

 

****

 

Having Steve in his space is nothing new to Bucky.

They’ve been together for nine months and have practically been living in each other’s pockets for around six of those. They rarely spend a night apart, either it be Steve staying over at Bucky’s or Bucky staying the night at Steve’s place.

Bucky likes it, having Steve near. It settles something in him, deep inside of him, whenever Steve is in his line of sight.

Waking up with Steve snuggled up to him is also another thing Bucky likes. _Loves_ , even. Seeing Steve’s face first thing in the morning, slack with sleep and flushed, his mouth parted as he breathes. Bucky doesn’t even mind when Steve drools on him, just grabs the end of one of the blankets and wipes at the wet spot.

This is what love is like, he supposes. Not minding when someone gets spit on you.

Steve’s also taken to wearing Bucky’s clothes around the house, instead of putting on his own.

Bucky has no complaints about that, his stomach flipping and heart beating wildly in his chest whenever he sees Steve in a pair of baggy sweatpants rolled at the ankles or wearing a shirt with the collar too big, the sleeves falling past the tips of his fingers. It’s adorable and it makes warmth rush through Bucky’s body.

It also makes Bucky’s wolf want to howl.

Kind of like now, as Bucky gets home from another day at work and goes over to the cabin to clean things up a little. Him and the Howlies finished the renovations a couple of months ago, and now all Bucky needs to do is some maintenance to keep the place in good shape

Steve is sitting on the living room floor, Bucky’s throw pillows surrounding him, and balancing a sketchbook on his knees. He’s wearing one of Bucky’s black henleys, the collar falling off from his shoulder, the contrast of the fabric against his skin making him look even paler. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, showing off his tattoos and scars. Bucky can’t tell if the sweats he has on are his or borrowed, but judging from the rip on one of the knees, Bucky thinks it might belong to him.

Bucky can’t help but smile a little when he sees Steve, muscles relaxing as he takes in a deep breath and fills his nose with the scent of _bloodearthrain_ and _bloodmossfrost_.

He wants to come home to this every night.

Steve looks up when Bucky closes the door behind him, face lighting up in a grin. “Hiya, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just walks up to him and flops down on the floor. He ends up kicking a few pillows under the coffee table, but Steve keeps smiling at him, so Bucky doesn’t particularly care.

He gets an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling Steve to him, and catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss. Steve makes a sound of surprise against Bucky’s lips, but doesn’t hesitate to get on board, kissing Bucky back and cupping Bucky’s cheek with a hand.

“You smell like the woods,” Steve murmurs after he breaks the kiss, nuzzling Bucky’s cheek.

“That’s where I’ve been,” Bucky tells him, fingers trading through the hair on Steve’s nape. “Makes sense I would smell like it.”

Steve hums, kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He doesn’t ask, not yet, but Bucky can feel the slight tense of muscles around Steve’s shoulders. He knows he’ll have to tell Steve soon.

“What were you drawing?” Bucky glances at the sketchbook, now lying on the floor between them.

Steve picks up the sketchbook and hands it to Bucky, leaning against Bucky’s side and resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky places a kiss on the top of Steve’s head, fingers already flipping the pages and gaze focused on the pencil lines of Steve’s art.

The first drawing is of Sam and Riley, both human but with falcon wings at their backs. They’re smiling and turned towards each other, their wings overlapping and touching. Riley’s wings look like they used to before the accident, healthy and stretched as far as they can go.

The next page has the Commandos standing as a unit, all of them decked in their army uniforms. Instead of holding guns, they have wolves by their sides. Not an accurate representation, aside from Bucky’s, of the wolves they turn into when the full moon comes around, but wolves all the same. They look deadly even when unarmed.

Natasha follows, drawn standing in front of her house. The fence around her home is made of bones instead of wood. She is holding a broom and she is smiling, sharp teeth in full view. She looks beautiful and she looks terrifying, just like she always does.

Bucky’s been expecting it, but he still takes in a sharp breath when he sees his face staring at him from the sketchbook. He knows Steve draws him more than most, knows he puts Bucky’s face and body to paper whenever he likes. Bucky has even posed for him a few times, letting Steve arrange him how he wanted, staying still and quiet while Steve turned him into art.

It makes something hot and pleasant curl in the pit of his stomach, seeing the careful lines of Steve’s drawings of him. Steve makes him look alive in them, like the tattoos covering his body. Bucky half expects to see himself blink or smile or laugh from the pages, if he’s being honest.

And it is so _obvious_ , what Steve feels for him, as Bucky flips through dozens of drawings of him. His face, his hands, his profile, his feet, the swell of his ass, the curve of his bottom lip. It’s all there, documented, how much Steve loves him.

“You’re really gone for me, aren’t you?” Bucky asks in reverence, carefully closing the book and placing it on the coffee table.

“Thought you already knew that,” Steve answers, shifting so his face is pressed to Bucky’s throat.

And it is so _obvious_ , what Bucky feels for Steve, when he doesn’t push Steve away or snaps at him for having his teeth so close to a vulnerable part of him. Instead Bucky tilts his head to the side, baring his throat.

Surrendering to Steve was always easy. Maybe the easiest thing in the world.

And Bucky knows Steve understands, when he licks a stripe up Bucky’s neck and then closes his teeth around Bucky’s pulse point. He bites. Hard. And Bucky goes limp against the couch.

“You’re really gone for me, aren’t you?” Steve asks in reverence, tongue soothing the bite mark on Bucky’s neck.

“Thought you already knew that,” Bucky throws back, his eyes falling shut.

“We’re kinda slow, Bucky,” Steve says with a smile, nuzzling at Bucky’s jaw. He’s more wolf than Bucky, sometimes, and Bucky loves him for it. “At least about these kind of things. But we got here in the end, didn’t we?”

Bucky turns so he can bury his face in Steve’s hair, breathing him in. “We did.”

“Love you, Buck,” Steve murmurs, breath ghosting over and lips brushing against Bucky’s throat.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, content. “I love you too, Stevie.”

 

****

 

And Bucky does.

Bucky loves him.

Bucky loves him so much he builds Steve a home.

 

****

 

Bucky doesn’t realize it.

Not during the course of construction and renovations. Not when the Commandos keep giving him looks. Not when Natasha smiles without teeth, smug and proud of herself, whenever she asks Bucky how the cabin’s been doing.

Bucky doesn’t realize it.

Not until he takes Steve to the woods and lets him see it.

 

****

 

It takes three days.

Dum Dum and Monty are working on getting Steve’s ceiling covered and patched up after hours, while Bucky dodges Steve’s attempts to pay them for their work.

“If you won’t let me give you money, then at least let me sew some protection charms on your work gloves,” Steve huffs, fingers digging a little harder into the dirt.

They’re in the garden Steve keeps behind his house. Bucky is sitting on the grass by Steve’s side, a big, partitioned wooden box on his lap. Steve is kneeling in front of the plants he grows, vials and small ziplock bags spread hazardly around him. They both smell like dirt and sweat and growing things.

Bucky blinks. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Gee Bucky, don’t need to sound so surprised,” Steve scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest and getting dirt on his clothes.

Bucky kisses Steve’s pout right off his face, taking advantage of the moment Steve opens his mouth at him in protest to slip his tongue inside. After that, Steve isn’t trying to talk much anymore. Instead he gets his dirt stained hands on Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him closer, sucking Bucky’s tongue into his mouth.

Bucky wholeheartedly approves.

“Guess you’ll be stayin’ here with me for a while,” Bucky tells him when he breaks the kiss, bumping their noses together.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “You’ll hafta share your bed with me for a little while longer.”

“Because that’s such a hard time,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Not like I’d also share everything else with you, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve’s reply is automatic. His question, after that, is hesitant but firm, “What were you doing?”

Bucky stares at him, Steve’s eyes impossibly blue and bright in the sunlight. “When?” Bucky asks, even though he’s sure he knows.

It takes three days.

“When you went to the woods.”

Yes, Bucky knows.

He also knows he’s going to tell Steve the truth.

 

****

 

Bucky has wanted a home for himself ever since he came back from the war, filled with nightmares and monsters and blood on his hands and teeth.

At first he thinks home was going back to the place where he was born, but his childhood house doesn’t offer him any comforts anymore. All it has to give him are just sad reminders of a time when he didn’t feel twisted up inside.

Home also isn’t all the cities he and the Howlies passed through along the years. The white walls and soft mattresses of the rooms he’s slept in all blur into the same picture. All of places he doesn’t belong, even though his brothers in arms make things a little better.

When they stumble through this town, it isn’t home either. Not at first. But it also isn’t _not_ home. There is something about the quiet place that calls to Bucky. It might be the woods, or it might be the quiet, or it might be all the beings scarier than he is.

Bucky stays, and him and the Commandos settle.

It is not home, but it is better.

It is not home, but it _could be_.

Bucky stays, and he meets Steve Rogers.

He is not home, but he helps Bucky build one for himself.

 

****

 

“It’s better if I show you,” Bucky says, hands curling around Steve’s wrists, thumbs tracing circles against his scars.

Steve tilts his head to the side. “It’s not a dead body, isn’t it?”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head, a few strand of hair falling from his ponytail and tickling his face. “It’s not, I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve answers, squeezing Bucky’s shoulders before letting go. “Can it wait until I’m done?”

“Yes,” Bucky assures him. “We don’t even have to go today if you don’t wanna.”

Steve gives him a look as if to say _have you met me?_ and Bucky wants to shake himself. They both know Steve is as curious as he is, but he doesn’t really have Bucky’s sense of self-preservation. He’s also impatient as hell.

“We’ll go after dinner,” Bucky says. “‘S a long walk”

“And I need my strength?”

“Yes. I’m not rescuin’ you if someone out there decides you’re good enough to eat.”

Steve glances at him and smirks. “That’s just you, Buck.”

Bucky makes a sound in the back of his throat, half annoyance and half desire. They both know Bucky would spend the rest of his life with his mouth on Steve if he could.

“Don’t you have some plants you need to bag, Rogers?” Bucky asks, and shields his face with his arms Steve throws dirt at him.

They spend the afternoon like that, sitting in the sun and gardening. Steve’s face is pink and a bit burned when they head back inside, and both of them smell like the earth and a lot of sweat.

They shower separately, at Steve’s insistence, even though Bucky uses all the same arguments about saving water and getting off. But Bucky is happy to see Steve in one of his shirts when they’re both out of the shower, the dark green fabric hanging off Steve’s shoulders and doing nothing to hide Steve’s tattoos or the hickeys Bucky left on his collarbones.

Bucky likes it. He likes it so much he can’t help but glance at it while they cook dinner, almost slicing his finger off a couple of times.

“You better be careful,” Steve warns him, tone laced with amusement. “I don’t want to find one of your fingers in my quiche.”

“Then just―,” Bucky makes a face, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and pulling at Steve’s collar until it covers his marks. Now it means the back of his neck and the skin between his shoulderblades are showing, but at least those don’t show the purple shape of Bucky’s mouth and teeth. “That’s better.”

“You’re supposed to be in control of yourself.”

“Kinda hard to, when it’s you,” Bucky admits, cheeks flushing a bit.

Because at the same time he feels settled in his skin when Steve’s near, he also feels out of control. Like he’s free-falling. Peaceful but exhilarating.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “I know what you mean.”

Dinner is ham and asparagus quiche and roasted winter vegetables, which they eat in Bucky’s living room, sitting side by side on the couch while Marvin Gaye plays softly in the background. Dessert consists of Bucky pressing his mouth to Steve’s and kissing him, tasting the food they just ate and Steve.

Steve does the dishes and Bucky dries and puts them away, which means Steve is done working first. And that makes it possible for him to mold himself against Bucky’s back, arms snaking around Bucky’s waist.

“Can we go now?” Steve asks, breath hot over Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky closes the cabinet door and throws the dishtowel on the sink. “You gonna stay glued to me like a limpet all the way?”

“No,” Steve says, voice muffled. “But if I was, you could handle it. You’re strong.”

Bucky tries and fails not to preen when Steve calls him strong, proud of his strength and what he’s able to do with it. That still doesn’t mean he’ll use it to do anything and everything Steve asks of him.

“I’m not carryin’ your skinny ass through the woods.” Bucky shifts in Steve’s arms until they’re face to face, his arms coming around Steve’s shoulders. He can’t help but slip a hand under the collar of Steve’s shirt, palm resting flat in between Steve’s shoulder blades. “But I will hold your hand.”

“You’re so nice, Buck,” Steve says dryly. “What did I ever do to deserve such a nice fella like you?”

_Nothing_ , Bucky thinks, but doesn’t say anything. He just leans in and kisses Steve for the tenth time that day.

Steve doesn’t do anything to deserve him. He just happened to be born during Bucky’s lifetime. Because heaven knows that when Bucky met Steve Rogers there was no way he was going to let him go.

 

****

 

The woods are dark and cool around them and Steve’s hand is warm and sure against Bucky’s own.

Together they walk the path that Bucky has followed for the last forty years, past the edges and deep through the trees. They don’t speak as they move, sharing the comfortable silence that falls between them.

Bucky can hear Steve’s breathing and the beat of his heart as they make their way. He doesn’t train his focus on them, instead paying attention to the sounds the forest makes. He’s very aware he’s not the most dangerous being roaming around, so it pays to be careful. And he might be careless with his own life, but to do so Steve’s is another thing.

That thing being _unforgivable_.

It takes them almost twenty minutes to get to the small patch of woods that belongs to Bucky and Bucky alone. Bucky is careful to walk at a steady but slow pace so Steve doesn’t end up exerting himself. Bucky might be thankful for inhalers, but he isn’t a fan of Steve needing them.

“Okay,” Bucky says, taking a deep breath. “We’re close.”

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze, glancing up at Bucky with obvious curiosity. “Nothing is going to jump at me, right?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to scare you I’d just use your paintbrushes and not clean them after.”

Steve shudders. “Please don’t.”

Bucky bumps their shoulders together, pulling Steve closer and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Okay. Do you want to do this with your eyes closed or with your eyes open?”

“Eyes open all the way,” Steve answers with absolute certainty.

Bucky smiles a little. Steve’s never been anything other than sure of what he wants.

“Okay,” Bucky says again, because third time’s the charm and maybe he’ll stop feeling like he’s about to step on a landmine at any second now.

“Why are you so nervous?” Steve gazes up at Bucky, tilting his head to the side. “‘S not like you.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, fingers dipping below the collar of Steve’s shirt. “Feels like a big deal, is all.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it, whatever it is,” Steve tells him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done. Sometimes, with Steve, all Bucky does is worry.

“All you have to do is look in front of you, pal, and tell me if that’s still true.”

Steve’s eyes snap from Bucky’s face to the now visible cabin in front of them. Bucky’s heart speeds up in his chest, stomach flipping as he watches Steve’s face and waits for a reaction.

Steve’s focus is all on the cabin, that looks very different from when Bucky first got it. The wooden exterior, copper roof, and open porch that runs along the length of the front of the house make it look smaller than it is inside, but also inviting. The ridiculous number of windows Bucky had installed also help, calling them to get inside. Bucky made good on his promise to build out from it, adding rooms and an office and a workshop for himself.

Bucky swallows in anticipation as he watches Steve. He takes in the surprise in Steve’s rapid pulse and the wonder in his eyes and the confusion in the line of his mouth. Behind all of that, though, there’s a softness to Steve’s expression, a warmth that makes Bucky feel a little less worried about showing Steve this part of himself.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, no louder than a whisper. “Is this yours?”

“Surprise,” Bucky says with a hesitant laugh.

Steve turns back to him, eyes round and shocked. “ _Bucky_.”

“Natasha gave it to me a real long time ago,” Bucky rushes to explain. “I never really did anything with it aside from using it during full moons, but last year it seemed like the right time.”

“The right time,” Steve repeats, blinking up at Bucky.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Bucky replies, unconsciously pulling Steve closer to him, as if he’s afraid Steve might run away. “But before it wasn’t really a place I could take my best guy to, y’know? And then when I started the construction and the renovations it just…”

“Wasn’t the right time?” Steve offers, going from shock to amusement.

“Yeah,” Bucky says lamely, shoulders slumping.

Steve’s eyes are still on him, a brand on the side of his face. “Aren’t you going to take me inside?”

Bucky jumps, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Fuck, yeah, of course I will.”

Steve grins. “C’mon, then.”

Steve is the one who snakes an arm around Bucky’s waist and drags him to the front door, but not before reaching out a fingers and tracing the stone that makes the open porch.

“You’re already thinking of protection wards, aren’t you?” Bucky sighs.

Steve doesn’t even bother looking guilty. “Gotta protect you, Bucky. Wouldn’t want anything happenin’ to the one guy who knows the right way to fuck me.”

“You only want me for my dick, then,” Bucky shakes his head at him.

Steve pats him in the stomach, right above the waistband of his jeans. “I trained you well.”

Bucky snorts. “That you did.”

“You also run hot,” Steve says. “That means I don’t need as many blankets during winter time.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, because it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy wrapping himself around Steve during the cold months. Instead, he gets the key in the lock, opening the door and letting Steve step inside.

 

****

 

It’s been seventy years, but Bucky still remembers what getting shot feels like.

The sting of the bullet, the hot sharp pain, the warmth of his blood soaking his skin.

This time, it is like Bucky is hit straight in the chest. Right in the middle. Clean through his heart.

He’s surprised he doesn’t fall where he stands.

 

****

 

Steve goes to stand in the middle of the living room, eyes taking in the interior of the house, the corners of his lips curled up. He takes off his shoes and walks around barefoot, traces the tips of his fingers over window sills and the bare walls, lets his gaze sweep over every detail of the place.

He walks through all of the rooms and repeats the process. Touching, looking, leaving his scent over Bucky’s things. The faint smile on his lips never disappears. It actually widens when he realizes that all the windows mean that when morning comes the house will be full of soft warm light, when he passes through the guest bedrooms, when he goes through the kitchen and gets to see Bucky’s workshop.

Seeing Steve in the house feels a little bit like getting shot, but without all the hurt and the real possibility that Bucky might slowly bleed out to death before help arrives. His breath still gets caught in his chest and time still seems to slow down to a crawl as he watches Steve cross the hallway from the workshop and stop at the circular space that is the office.

 

****

 

Bucky has wanted a home for himself ever since he came back from the war, filled with nightmares and monsters and blood on his hands and teeth.

Steve is not home, but being with him in this house in the middle of the woods, a house that Bucky’s build with his own hands and sweat and pack? Well, it surely feels like it.

 

****

 

That’s when Bucky realizes.

That’s when he realizes that he loves Steve so much he build them both a home.

 

****

 

“I like it,” Steve says, turning around to look at Bucky.

Bucky forces himself to take a step forward, like his entire world didn’t just shift around on its axis. He crosses the room until he’s in front of Steve, his hands finding their place on Steve’s hips.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, both nervous and hopeful.

“Yeah.” Steve smiles up at him. “It’s sturdy.”

Bucky blinks. That’s not what he was expecting. “Sturdy?”

“Yes.”

“ _Really_ , Stevie?” Bucky huffs. “I build a house and all you have to say about it is that it’s _sturdy_?”

“I also said I liked it,” Steve points out, poking Bucky in the chest.

Bucky growls at him, more playful than offended.

“I mean it,” Steve says, leaning his weight on Bucky, their chests pressed together. “Makes me feel protected, even in the middle of the woods with the sounds of the forest and its beings surrounding us. Like it’d hold up against anything.”

“I’m not that good,” Bucky murmurs, even though he mentally pats himself on the back for making a place where Steve feels safe in.

“We might not be, when we’re separated. But together it’s a different story,” Steve says simply, nuzzling at Bucky’s jaw.

“What do you man?”

“Black locust and beech wood,” Steve tells him, playing with the ends of Bucky’s hair. “In the floorings and furniture. It’s in this room. They’re good for absorbing magic.”

Bucky is taken back to his talk with Natasha when he first started messing around with the cabin. Her advice: _black locust and beech wood_. Bucky didn’t understand then, but he listened. He gets it now. She knew and she helped.

Bucky is going to have to thank her for that. He is not looking forward to it. But at least he’s already paid the price.

“I didn’t build a house that could hold up against anything,” Bucky says slowly.

“But you made it so it _could_ ,” Steve finishes it for him. “So _I_ could.”

And it hits Bucky all over again.

This isn’t just a place for him.

This isn’t just a place for his pack.

This is a place for all of those Bucky holds dear, Steve Rogers most of all.

This is a _home_.

And the office they’re standing in, with its big windows and wooden floor that absorbs anything Steve might throw it, is the concrete proof that this is a home for _both of them_. And Bucky might not have realized it, at first, but now it is obvious.

And he shouldn’t be surprised, not really. When it seemed like he waited his whole life for Steve, it’s not a stretch to think Bucky would do anything to keep him.

To provide for him.

To protect him.

To shelter him.

Bucky is a man and Bucky is a wolf and Bucky has finally found the person who complements him. Steve isn’t a part of him, but Steve brings out the best parts Bucky has in himself.

They’re complete on their own, but they’re something else when they’re together.

“Oh,” is what comes out of Bucky’s mouth in an exhale, his breath ghosting over Steve’s hair.

“Did you mean it?” Steve asks him, pulling back a little so he can look up at Bucky. “Or is this another dead deer situation?”

Bucky opens his mouth to speak and what it comes out is, “I wanted a home.”

It is honest, maybe more honest that Bucky intended. But it is out there, hanging in the air between them, and it is true.

“With me?” Steve asks, voice small and unsure, as if he’s afraid Bucky will say no.

As if Bucky doesn’t want to spend every single minute for as long as they’re both alive and breathing sharing his life with Steve. Bucky has done that for the past ninety years and he doesn’t want to do it again. Not if he has any say in it. And right now, he does.

“I built us a house,” Bucky says, almost breathless with it.

“You did,” Steve says, just as softly, his fingers touching Bucky’s cheek. “And also said you wanted a home. What do you say about us givin’ it a try?”

Bucky’s sharp intake of breath is audible in the silent room. He thinks Steve can also hear the way his heart trips in his chest, the way blood rushes through his ears, the way his entire world stops before it starts up again.

So he lowers his head, the tip of his nose touching Steve’s own, and says, like a prayer, “Nothin’ in the world I would like more than that, Steve.”

“Good,” Steve answers, smiling so wide it must hurt.

 

****

 

Bucky has a house near the carpentry shop, but he also owns a cabin in the woods. He has for the past forty years.

It is bigger than it looks at first sight and it is both his and Steve’s. It is filled with his mountain of throw pillows and blankets, Steve’s paintings up on the walls, their clothes and shoes strewn over the floor. It has a garden, runes carved by the doors and windows, and dime novels on the bookshelves. It smells of blood and earth and rain and moss and frost, giving life and warmth to the dead winter.

Bucky has a house near the carpentry shop, but he also owns a cabin in the forest. He has for the past forty years.

And it is a home.

His and Steve’s.

_Finally_.


	4. claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are, at the end of all things ~  
> a million thanks to acuisle, _once again_ , for helping me out with this. this fic wouldn't be half of what it is without your help <3
> 
>  
> 
>  **warnings** for this chapter: blood. and a happy ending! :D

“Are you running tonight?”

Bucky nuzzles at Steve’s stomach, breathing in the scent of both of them as they sprawl on the middle of their living room. They’re in between a mountain of throw pillows, the blankets forgotten in the August heat. The cabin is warm, even being located in the middle of the woods. And that, plus the heat Bucky radiates, serves to leave them both hot and a bit sweaty.

Bucky loves it.

Especially when Steve starts running his fingers through his hair and down his neck, petting him.

“That’s the plan,” Bucky says, letting his tongue dart out so he can get a taste of Steve’s salty skin.

It’s a full moon night, the only one this month, and Bucky can already feel the call of it in his bones. His joints itch, his skin seeming too tight for his body, and he knows that if he smiles, he’ll show teeth a little longer and sharper than usual.

Something else is also there, coiling in between his ribcage and making a home around his heart. It makes his blood pump faster, his gums ache, his stomach flip. It makes him want to bite and fuck and taste blood.

Bucky thinks he should be scared, but he has learned to embrace what has been made of him long ago. It also helps that he knows what this is about. Natasha explained it all to him, over a year ago.

“Be careful,” Steve tells him, fingers tracing shapes over the back of Bucky’s neck, his naked shoulders, around his collarbone.

Bucky smiles a little at that, feeling the buzzing sting of magic settling over him. Steve thinks Bucky isn’t aware, but Bucky has known Steve has been casting protection charms over his skin since the first time they woke up together.

“I’m always careful,” Bucky mumbles, placing a kiss right under Steve’s belly button and feeling the muscles there tense.

Steve flicks him in the ear. “Be _more_ careful, then.”

Bucky frowns, moving around until he’s sitting by Steve’s side instead of lying down with his head on Steve’s lap.

“What do you know?” Bucky asks, the words feeling strange on his tongue. He’s not used to asking that to anyone but Natasha. The fact that this is _Steve_ only makes him more worried.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, frowning a little. He lifts his hand to touch Bucky’s face, fingers ghosting over his forehead and down the bridge of his nose.

“ _Steve_.”

“Well, I _don’t_ ,” Steve huffs, cupping Bucky’s cheek. “Just feel a bit itchy, is all.”

Bucky leans closer, bringing his own hand up to rest on the side of Steve’s neck, feeling Steve’s pulse with his thumb. “Do I need to take you outside?”

“You make me sound like a pet,” Steve grumbles.

“You know it’s not like that,” Bucky answers. “But do I need to?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “My magic is good.”

Bucky lets out a relieved breath. They’ve been together for over a year, but sensing Steve’s magic builds up and having to watch him let it out is not for either of them. Less so for Steve, who has to pay the price and feel the pain of it.

“What is it then?”

“I said I don’t _know_.” Steve shrugs, bumping Bucky’s chin with his forehead. Bucky tilts his head up and pulls Steve closer, tucking Steve’s head under his chin and holding him. “Just feel itchy, restless. Like something important is gonna happen.”

Bucky opens his mouth, but hesitates to say anything.

Steve senses it and pulls back so he can look up at him, eyes narrowed. “What do _you_ know?”

“That what you said feels kinda familiar,” Bucky admits, rubbing a hand over his naked chest.

“Oh,” Steve says softly, placing his hand over Bucky’s. “You too?”

“Kinda how I feel every full moon, Steve.”

“So this always happens?”

Bucky licks his lips and drawls, “Well…”

“Buck.” Steve nips at Bucky’s chin, light and quick. “C’mon.”

“Feels kinda like it always does, I guess,” Bucky says, feeling the beat of his own heart under his palm. “But there’s another somethin’ here.”

Steve looks down at their hands on Bucky’s chest. “Here?”

Bucky nods. “Yup.”

“Should we be worried?” Steve asks, chewing at his bottom lip.

And, well.

Isn’t _that_ the question?

Because Bucky is not worried about that something else. He knows what it is, recognizes it, even if he has never felt it before. So his worry isn’t about what it means, but it is about what it will mean for _Steve_.

There is a reason why Bucky wants to bite and fuck and taste blood and it has to do with a dead deer, and it has to do with protecting Steve from himself, and it has to do with building them both a home.

There is a reason why Bucky wants to bite and fuck and taste blood and it has to do with a conversation he had with Natasha an odd year ago.

There is a reason why Bucky wants to bite and fuck and taste blood and it has to do with werewolf courting rituals

Steve might know about courting, but the steps they take during it are something only Bucky knows when they will come up. Steve recognizes them when Bucky is doing them, and he reciprocates in his own way, but Bucky is always the one to make the move.

Now, he’s going to have to tell Steve about claiming bites.

 

****

 

“What do you know about courting rituals?” Bucky asks, sitting naked in Natasha’s guest bedroom’s bed.

He’s not disappointed when Natasha blinks, gives him a faint smile, and answers, “I know many things, James.”

“Can you tell me what will be helpful for me to know?”

Natasha gives him a minute nod of her head. “It will cost you.”

Bucky almost smiles at that. “It always does.”

“You’ll make me something,” Natasha tells him. “Out of wood. It will be pretty but useful.”

“When do you want me to give it to you?” Bucky asks without thinking it over. It’s never a hardship to carve something, let alone something for Natasha after receiving helpful advice.

“When this is all over,” Natasha replies, her eyes glinting. “Now, pay attention.”

“I’m listening.”

“There are four main aspects to your werewolf courting, as far as my understanding goes,” Natasha tells him. Bucky fights back at smile at her wording, because her understanding of things extends farther than anyone can imagine. “The first one, which you’ve already covered, is _provide_. In that you show you how much you can offer to the person or being you want to be yours.”

Bucky’s heart clenches in his chest at the thought of _Steve_ being _his_. And then his stomach flips and he goes a little lightheaded at the realization that would mean _he_ is also _Steve’s_.

“James,” Natasha says, sounding more amused than offended. “Focus.”

Bucky clears his throat, but he still sounds a bit strangled when he says, “Sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Natasha says. “This time.”

“So.” Bucky swallows hard. “First, provide.”

“Second, _protect_ ,” Natasha continues. “But that can come in many ways, not just using your strength or agility to fight. It can mean taking care of someone and making sure they have what they need to lead a good and healthy life.”

Bucky blinks. “That sounds okay.”

Even if he does have to fight. The good thing about being a trained killer and a wolf is that defending comes easy to him. So does hunting. And so does killing. Taking care of someone is also something Bucky is used to, after spending seventy years with his pack, a few of them in the trenches of war.

“Third is _shelter_ ,” Natasha says, raising three fingers. “It is giving them a place to come to when they need it, somewhere safe.”

“And fourth?”

“Fourth,” Natasha says. ”Fourth is _claim_.”

“Claim?” Bucky asks, voice weak. He’s getting lightheaded again. And, for some reason, his mouth is watering.

“That’s the easy one,” Natasha tells him, and then she smiles. “All you have to do is bite.”

 

****

 

“You know how this all started,” is how Bucky decides to begin. He knows that if he gives Steve a direction, Steve will follow and soon get to the point Bucky is trying to make. Maybe then Bucky won’t have to actually _say_ anything about it.

“Of course I know,” Steve says dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. “With you leaving me a carcass.”

“With me _courting_ you,” Bucky corrects, and feels his cheeks flushing a little.

He thinks he’ll never stop being embarrassed about how it all went down, even if it got him Steve.

Steve glances down at their hands still on Bucky’s chest. “So this is another part of it.”

“Yes,” Bucky confirms. “The final part of it.”

Steve blinks up at him, eyes blue and bright. He scratches at his own naked chest with his free hand, right over his scars, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“You gotta tell me, Bucky,” Steve says quietly. “Because I don’t really know what it is.”

And Steve looks up at him with so much _warmth_ and _love_ and _fondness_.

So of course Bucky blurts out, “I have to bite you.”

 

****

 

Things don’t change much after Steve and Bucky move to the cabin in the woods.

Steve still rides his motorcycle to work and the pack still crashes at the house after full moons and Bucky still goes running through the forest whenever he feels like it.

What is different is that Bucky now falls asleep and wakes up to Steve every day. What is different is that everything smells like _them_. What is different is that he now knows the wonders of what is full moon sex.

Bucky never liked change that much, but these are all changes he has embraced fully.

The first time they have sex during a full moon, the next morning Bucky heads down to find himself the victim of five different glares.

“What?” Bucky asks, glaring back at them as he pulls his hair up in a bun.

“Nice mark you have there,” Gabe says, pointing at Bucky’s neck.

Bucky turns to glance at his reflection on the fridge, lips curling up in a smug smile when he sees the purple bruise just under his ear. Steve bites stronger than a wolf, sometimes.

“You should tell that to Steve,” Bucky replies, sounding pleased. “He’s the one who put it there.”

“Oh, we know,” Gabe mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah,” Dum Dum huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you want to know how we know?”

“You know I’m with Steve. Doesn’t take a genius, Dugan.”

“Yes?” Monty raises an eyebrow at him, looking away from the bacon he’s cooking to stare at Bucky. “Then why didn’t you realize we could all _hear you_?”

Bucky blinks, not understanding. “I’ve heard you all fucking someone at least _five times_ in my life. Hell, I’ve walked in on Dum Dum with a gal more times than that. Nevermind all the solo action you got goin’ on during the war when someone wasn’t shootin’ at us that we could all hear after that torture lab.”

“Bucky,” Morita says in a serious tone that means he’s got important shit to convey. “We know we left our sense of modesty somewhere in Austria, but Steve didn’t.”

“We might not care,” Dernier says, tone heavy with an accent even after over half a century. “But Steve is different, _oui_?”

Bucky opens his mouth only to snap it back shut again, his eyes widening and his stomach twisting.

And that’s when he hears, right behind him, “I’m different about what?”

They all look back at him, and Bucky’s expression softens when he sees Steve stepping into the kitchen. His hair's a mess, sticking up everywhere, and he’s decked in one of his old sweats and the shirt Bucky wore last night. That means the collar slips off his shoulder, revealing a matching pair of bruises covering his collarbone and throat.

Bucky almost forgets he and Steve aren’t the only ones in the house.

But then Dum Dum says, without a hint of shame, “About being okay with fuckin’ in a house full of wolves.”

Bucky goes tense, divided between wanting to apologize to Steve and bite a chunk off Dum Dum’s arm.

“Oh,” Steve breathes out. “I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”

“We thought _you_ might be,” Morita tells him, lips twitching up.

Steve tilts his head at him. “This is our house. Mine and Bucky’s. I’m not uncomfortable fucking my boyfriend in our home.”

Bucky has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to make any sounds, even though his wolf wants to howl.

The Commandos look taken aback for about two seconds, which is more than Bucky’s seen since they found out they were wolves, and then they’re all laughing, loud and unrestrained.

Steve just raises an eyebrow at them and moves his focus to Bucky. That’s when _he_ smiles, soft and small and enough to make Bucky feel like he’s on top of the world.

“So what you’re saying is that if we’re bothered…,” Monty trails off.

“You should buy ear plugs,” Steve finishes for him. “I heard from Pepper that they can be pretty useful.”

Bucky snorts.

Pepper is Tony’s and Tony is Pepper’s, a phoenix and a dragon, and they all know how annoying Tony can be whenever he has a new project in mind.

“We can do that,” Gabe nods, smiling a little.

“Even though you could probably soundproof the master bedroom with that magic o’ yours,” Dum Dum says, winking.

“Like I said, I’m not uncomfortable fucking my boyfriend in our home,” is Steve’s answer.

And he really isn’t.

As they prove to the pack the next full moon.

 

****

 

“You can’t turn me,” Steve says, no louder than a whisper, his voice laced with pain. He also takes his hand off from Bucky’s chest, letting it rest limply on his side. “You’d kill me.”

“That’s not—,” Bucky whines, distressed and hurt. Bucky has been through a lot of bad things in his life, but he knows losing Steve would be the worse. “It’s not what this is about. It’s not that kind of bite. Fuck, Steve, I’d _never_ do that to you. Not ever.”

Bucky knows how lucky he is, that he was able to maintain control of himself after he was made. That he wasn’t alone and had his pack by his side, serving as his anchor to the human part of himself. But that doesn’t mean he would wish what he went through on someone else.

None of the Commandos have ever bitten and turned anyone into werewolves. That aspect of who they are is too tied to the war, too tied to the pain they felt, too tied to the torture they were put through.

They were reborn in blood and screams and violence.

They do not wish to return to that, even if it means creating more wolves like them.

And even though the thought of Steve being able to run with them, hunt with them, kill with them makes something in Bucky melt, he would never do that to Steve either.

“Then what…?” Steve trails off, hands curling into fists by his sides.

Bucky tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, his fingers lingering on the side of his own neck. He notices Steve tracking the movement with his eyes.

“It’s called—,” Bucky starts, stops, clears his throat before he continues. “It’s called a claiming bite. It’s not done with the intent of turning someone.”

Steve’s mouth parts a little, lips pink and slack. Bucky wants to kiss him, but he knows it is not the time.

“Claiming bite,” Steve repeats, and then licks his lips. “What’s the intention, then? Y’know, aside from, uh, _claiming_.”

Bucky has to bite back a whimper at that, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and tinging his skin red. He also can’t help but shift a little in place, heat coiling in his stomach. Usually it takes more to get Bucky going, but this close to the full moon the mere thought of doing _anything_ with Steve turns him on.

He knows Steve’s aware of this, judging by the way his lips curl up in a faint smirk and his eyes glint.

“It’s, uh, it’s to create a connection,” Bucky tries to explain. “A bond between the two of us. It’d also make you pack, officially.”

“A bond?” Steve frowns.

Bucky shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know how it works. This is kind of a first for me, Steve.”

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes at Bucky. “I’d fuckin’ hope so, Buck.”

Bucky ducks his head and smiles a little.

They missed a lot of firsts with each other, for consequence of being born in different times. But now they are together, and will stay that way if Bucky has anything to say about it. He’ll fight with teeth and claws and all of his heart to keep Steve.

“With the pack, we can kind of feel each other,” Bucky tells him, moving until his knees are touching Steve’s. He also picks up one of the throw pillows and gives it to Steve, who hugs it to his chest. “It’s like these threads, in our heads, one for each of us. We don’t get a lot from it, unless one of us needs help, but we’re always kinda aware of where we all are.”

“That musta been useful, during the war,” Steve mutters, resting his chin on Bucky’s throw pillow.

“We were a damn good team because of a lot of reasons.” Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “That was just one of them.”

 

****

 

Bucky and the Commandos are all trained killers before they are wolves. They are fast and they are hard to kill and, most of all, they are bloodthirsty. They are all barely contained rage and a need for vengeance and the fear that they might not make it. In war, they find out what kind of men they are and just what they are willing to do to keep breathing.

In the end, they are willing to do almost anything to stay alive.

Bucky can still remember, clear in his mind, the relief he feels when he finds out the six of them have enough points to be demobilized and sent back to the United States instead of being redeployed to the Pacific, even if it takes them over a year to get home. When they finally step foot on American soil and are discharged, it isn’t a hard decision for them to disappear. They know that soon enough there wll be another war to be fought, and they are tired of being soldiers.

War has already taken part of their humanity from them, and they aren’t willing to risk anything more.

As far as decisions go, Bucky thinks they do pretty okay with that one.

 

****

 

“So that’d be the pack connection,” Steve says, snapping Bucky from his thoughts. “You said there’d be another one just between us.”

“I— Yeah, I think so,” Bucky tells him. “It sounds about right.”

And it does. The echo of it sounds in between Bucky’s ribs, wraps around his heart. He knows that, if they do this, whatever bond he and Steve will have will be very different from the one he has with the rest of his pack.

“You’re inspiring real confidence here, Bucky,” Steve drawls, pressing his lips together not to smile. “I’m impressed.”

Bucky grabs a pillow and hits Steve lightly on the side of the head. “Shuddup.”

Steve laughs, letting go of his pillow and moving so he’s sitting by Bucky, their sides flushed together. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Steve Steve’s shoulders, the skin to skin contact doing a lot to relax him for the conversation they’re having.

“Tell me more about it,” Steve says, poking Bucky in the ribs. “About the bite.”

“What do you want to know?” Bucky asks, bumping his nose against Steve’s temple.

“Will it hurt?”

“I think so, yes,” Bucky admits quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“All things have a price, I suppose,” Steve sighs.

“Some of them we shouldn’t have to pay.”

Steve gives a small smile right before leaning in and pressing their lips together in a brief kiss. “This is one I might be willing to,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s mouth. “If you keep talking.”

Bucky growls, giving into to instinct for a second. He tackles Steve to the floor and kisses him hard, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip before licking his way into Steve’s mouth. They’re pressed together from chest to groin, Steve’s legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist. Bucky loses a bit of time and a bit of himself in that kiss, heart soaring at the possibility that Steve might be really truly _his_.

“Bucky,” Steve mumbles, their teeth clinking. He pushes at Bucky’s shoulders, who stops kissing him for a while in favor of sucking marks into his neck. “Bucky, we got important things to discuss.”

“‘M listenin’,” Bucky says, teeth working at Steve’s pulse point. There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing there’ll be a bruise there when he’s done. “You can talk.”

“But you’re the one who has somethin’ to _say_ ,” Steve answers, tangling his fingers through Bucky’s hair and pulling a little. “Now c’mon, you can chew at me later.”

Bucky gives Steve’s neck one last hard suck, smiling to himself when he sees the bruise blooming on Steve’s skin.

“Your eyes are gold,” Steve murmurs, fingertip tracing the skin under Bucky’s eye.

Bucky tilts his head so he can mouth at Steve’s wrist. “Your tattoos are movin’ around like they’ve got the devil on their tails.”

Steve smiles a sweet smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “We used to be better at self control.”

“You know what they say about full moons.”

“That weird stuff happens?” Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yup,” Bucky says, ducking his head so he can rubs their noses together. “‘S a dangerous time.”

“Good thing you got me to protect you,” Steve replies, teeth closing around Bucky’s chin in a gentle bite.

“Same to you, Stevie,” Bucky tells him. “Same to you.”

“Okay,” Steve says, pushing Bucky away so they’re lying side by side and facing each other. “So.”

“So,” Bucky repeats, lips quirking up.

“The bond,” Steve continues. “Is it permanent?”

Bucky goes still, breath catching in his throat. He shifts until their foreheads are resting together, but doesn’t touch Steve anywhere else.

“Some marks you can’t make disappear,” is Bucky’s answers. “They’ll stay on you forever.”

He listens to Steve’s heartbeat speed up, and once again he wishes Steve’s scent wasn’t muted, that he could smell the shift of emotions as Steve feels them.

“And the claiming bite is one of them,” Steve mutters.

“Yes,” Bucky whispers, closing his eyes.

“How will it affect us?”

“I’ve got no idea, Steve,” Bucky admits.

Natasha didn’t cover that on her explanation, and Bucky didn’t know to ask.

“How much time do we have until the run?”

Bucky lets out a breath and moves, going in search of his phone. It’s probably still in his pants’ pocket, which must be somewhere around the couch. It takes him longer than he’d thought to find it, which means he’s away from Steve for longer than he’d like.

“A few hours,” Bucky says, checking the screen. He also has a few missed texts from the Howlies, all of them variations of the same request. “And the guys are wondering if we can grill tomorrow afternoon.”

“As long as you don’t let Dernier near the fire,” Steve tells him with an amused smile.

“Got it.”

“We should go to _Smoke & Lightning_.”

Bucky lifts his eyes from his phone and looks back at Steve, who’s now sprawled on his back on the floor, his arms under his head.

“After grilling?” Bucky asks, blinking. He’s kind of distracted by all the pale and inked and scarred skin Steve is showing.

“I mean _now_ ,” Steve huffs, sitting up and covering his lap with a pillow. Bucky resists the urge to pout. “We could talk to Thor. If anyone should know about claiming bonds, it’s him.”

“Nat didn’t say anything to me,” Bucky mutters, frowning.

Steve arches an eyebrow at him. “Because she’s always so forthcoming?”

“Okay, you might have a point.”

“Good, now go get dressed.”

Steve gets up and throws the pillow at Bucky.

It hits him straight in the face.

Bucky will blame his lack of reflexes on being distracted by the sight of Steve’s naked ass.

 

****

 

“What do you wish to drink, my friends?”

Thor makes Bucky feel the same as Natasha does: like prey. Although with Thor, Bucky knows that if he angers him he won’t end up becoming a meal. He will just end up being struck by lightning instead.

Bucky isn’t sure what’s worse. But he’s been electrocuted more than once, long ago, and it is not something he wants to go through again.

“Actually, we have some questions,” Steve says, biting at his bottom lip.

Thor peers down at him, looking impossibly big and imposing this close to Steve. Bucky itches to put himself in between them, even knowing Steve isn’t in any danger from Thor.

“Then I shall try to answer them to the best of my abilities.”

“How do you know you’ll have any answers to our questions?” Bucky narrows his eyes at him.

“The same way I know you know better than to ask idiotic questions,” Thor tells him, smiling a little. “Romanova taught you better, Master Barnes.”

Bucky purses his lips together, turning his head to the side to glare at Steve when he sees him trying to smother a laugh.

“We were wondering if you knew anything about claiming bonds,” Steve says, lips still twitching up.

Thor seems to light up at that. “You are thinking of bonding?” Thor asks, and when Steve and Bucky nod hesitantly he claps them both on the shoulder, squeezing hard. “That is wonderful. You two are well-matched. I am sure you will be very happy in the times to come.”

There’s something about listening to those words come from a _god_ that relaxes Bucky. He’s known Steve was the one for him since he saw him, but it’s good to hear from an actual deity that he’s right.

“We already know the bond is permanent,” Bucky tells him.

“But we don’t really know how it’ll affect us,” Steve adds. “Especially with my magic.”

“I see,” Thor nods. He leans against the counter, resting his chin on his hand. “I can say that your magic is your own, Steven. The same way the wolf belongs to Master Barnes. Bonding won’t change or interfere with those two things. They will stay as they are meant to stay.”

“That’s good to know,” Steve mumbles, letting out a relieved breath.

“You will be sharing your lifetime,” Thor continues, expression softening when Bucky and Steve go tense.

“Does that mean Bucky will d—“ Steve starts.

Bucky cuts him off being saying, “Steve will live as long as I’m around?”

“Yes to both,” Thor explains. “You will both live as long as the other survives. It could be for another two hundred years…”

“Or for as long as it takes for my magic to burn me alive,” Steve finishes.

“That won’t happen,” Bucky says firmly, turning to Steve. “You’re too careful.”

“Not my choice, Bucky.” Steve shakes his head, eyes sad. “I can be as careful as I want, but maybe one day the price I have to pay for this much power will be too much for me.”

“Maybe not,” Thor says, getting their attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I believe blood is the best currency, no?”

“Aside from a life, yes,” Steve nods. “Blood and pain, willingly given and felt.”

“You can still bleed and hurt,” Thor says, and raises a hand when Bucky growls at him. “I mean no harm, Master Barnes. I merely wish to say that spilling blood does not pose the same risk to Steven after you bond.”

“Explain,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. He knows his eyes are gold, and he can feel his claws and fangs biting into his palms and lips.

Steve places a hand on his wrist, thumb rubbing circles at his pulse point. It helps, but not as much as they both want it to.

“All things have limitations,” Thor says. “But bonding always works in your favor. It wishes for you to be alive and well and healthy and in love. That is how it is created and that is how it maintains itself. So while it means you only live as long as each other, it also means it fights to keep you both alive.”

Bucky hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath, feels Steve’s hold tightening on his wrist. He also goes still, muscles tensing as he processes Thor’s words.

“Fuck,” is all Bucky can think of saying.

That seems to amuse Thor, who gives him a small smile that betrays the seriousness of the next words he speaks, “But even bonds have limits. I would not recommend trying your luck.”

“Just do as we’ve been doing,” Steve says softly.

“But together ‘til the end of the line,” Bucky adds, just as quietly, eyes on Steve.

Bucky hears Steve’s heart speed up, feels Steve’s nails digging into his wrist. “I’m with you,” he whispers, eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“And you both have my blessing,” Thor murmurs. “I will grant you strength and courage on your way, and may you find laughter as you go.”

Magic has a different feel to it depending on who wills it. Steve’s feel like a buzz, electric and hot and comforting. Natasha’s is like a cold winter breeze. Thor’s is like lightning and rain, bright but gentle as it washes over Bucky.

“Thank you,” Bucky breathes out, ducking his head.

“ _Thor_ ,”  is all Steve says, placing a hand on Thor’s arm.

“My lady Jane is very fond of you, Steven. As am I,” Thor replies. “We wish for you to be happy. This blessing is the least I could do.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, eyes shining.

Thor smiles back. “Now off you go. I am certain you two have a lot to think about.”

 

****

 

They walk together and hold hands, the silence surrounding them both heavy and comfortable.

Bucky doesn’t push for conversation, instead taking in the sounds and smells of the town.

He knows it’s a lot to process. He himself had a hard time doing it when Natasha explained courting to him. Nevermind that he still made the choice to go forward with it, always knowing it would come to this, always knowing they would reach this point. He didn’t know all that it would entail, sure, but now that Thor has shed some light on the subject, his mind isn’t changed.

Bucky knows he will always choose Steve. It’s not even a question, hasn’t been since Bucky first saw him. Less of one now that he knows claiming Steve and bonding with him means he’ll get to keep him for as long as they live. And that could be for _centuries_.

Bucky also knows that it might not happen tonight.

Steve saying he’s with him doesn’t mean he wants anything to happen tonight. And Bucky wants, _fuck_ if he does want, he doesn’t think he has ever wanted something this much, but he’ll wait as long as he has to if Steve asks.

He thinks about that all the way back to their home, what Steve might say now that they have the full picture. It leaves him even more restless than before, wanting to either run or fight or fuck and knowing he can’t do either.

At least not until it’s time or at least not until Steve tells him it’s okay.

Steve doesn’t stop by the mess of pillows on the floor when they get to the house, instead letting go of Bucky’s hand and walking in the direction of their room. Bucky isn’t sure if he’s supposed to follow, at first.

But then Steve looks at him from over his shoulder and smiles.

Bucky goes to him. Always has, when called, like the wolf to the full moon. Bucky wishes their bond was as permanent as that.

He hopes, like he always has.

And Steve doesn’t disappoint, like he never has.

 

****

 

Their bedroom is made up of four walls, a bed, a mountain of pillows and blankets, large windows, and themselves.

Bucky’s own little paradise on earth, still.

Even more so as he watches Steve undress, clothes falling to the floor. He licks his lips and watches, eyes raking over every inch of skin Steve reveals. He will always be starved for this, he thinks, for _Steve_. No matter how much time they spend together, a few years or decades or centuries, he will always _want_.

Steve glances at him again, and he’s still smiling a little, but he keeps quiet. Bucky understands what he wants, though. He’s had over a year to learn every expression and look Steve has and gives him.

Bucky takes his clothes off with no finesse, not bothering to do it slowly or seductively. This isn’t a game they’re playing, after all. He follows Steve to the bed, lying down on his side and waiting for Steve to join him, to see what he wants to do.

Steve is the one holding all the cards.

Steve is the one holding Bucky’s heart in his hands.

Bucky knows he will be careful with it, even if he decides to crush it between his palms.

Bucky hopes he doesn’t.

Steve doesn’t disappoint.

He throws a leg over Bucky’s hip and wraps an arm around Bucky’s side, pulling their bodies flushed together. They stare at each other, their breaths mingling together. Bucky could get lost in Steve’s eyes, if he let himself.

“You know,” Steve says quietly, his lips brushing against Bucky’s as they shape words. “I never thought you’d propose to me while we were sitting in our living room stark naked surrounded by flower printed throw pillows.”

And Bucky, well.

He can’t say he did either.

Which is why he laughs, loud and incredulous and with his whole body.

“I did, didn’t I?” Bucky gasps, voice shaking with mirth. “Fuck, I proposed.”

He knew bonding would be forever, but he somehow didn’t relate that to the bonds of marriage. Maybe it is because he hasn’t been human for a very long time. But that’s what claiming is, what bonding is: a promise to stay by each other’s side ‘til, well… ‘til the end of the line.

“Sure did, Buck,” Steve says, grinning. “Gotta say it was real romantic of you.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Bucky says, bumping their noses together. He’s still laughing, though, so his apology doesn’t sound that sincere. “Do you want me to do better? I can do better, Stevie. I’ll give you the most amazing and romantic proposal a fella could ever have.”

“‘S alright,” Steve tells him. “Nothin’ better than having my best guy ask me to spend the rest of our lives together when we’re in our home.”

“Yeah?”

“You being naked also didn’t hurt,” Steve admits.

Bucky laughs again, so happy he could burst. But then something occurs to him. “You didn’t answer me.”

Steve blinks at him, lips curling up. “Did you even ask me a question in the first place?”

Bucky opens and closes his mouth a few times, thinking back to the conversations they had. And then he winces, because Steve is right. Bucky never _did_ ask him anything.

“I’m screwin’ this up, aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” Steve promises him, cupping Bucky’s cheek with his palm. Bucky gives him an incredulous look. “Okay, no more than usual.”

“That’s real nice, Rogers.”

Steve kisses his pout right off his mouth. “What’s not real nice is me having to wait until you get your head outta your ass and _ask me_.”

Bucky props himself up on one elbow, gazing down at Steve on the bed. Steve’s hair looks golden against the dark sheets, the afternoon sun streaming through the window. His raven tattoo is resting right over his heart, the bird staring up at Bucky as if daring him to do something.

And Bucky dares.

“Steve,” he says, leaning down so their lips almost touch. “ _Will you_?”

And Steve rewards him.

“Yes.”

*

They are waiting in the clearing, just like they always do. Duffel bags by their sides, eyes already shining gold, looking more wolf than the men that they are.

Bucky can’t help but smile when he sees them, his pack.

“Someone’s looking cheery,” Dum Dum comments when he catches sight of Bucky.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, because that is an understatement. There is nothing _cheery_ about the happiness bubbling up inside of him, hot and bright and like it might burst out of him at any moment.

“That’s what happens when you have someone to come home to every night,” Morita replies. “You’re always in a good _mood_.”

“Maybe you should tie the knot with that fox of yours,” Bucky tells him. “That’ll get you just where I am.”

The Commandos all freeze at that, turning slowly to stare at Bucky with wolf eyes.

“Tell me you did not get married,” Dernier says, narrowing his eyes at Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Course I didn’t. Like I’d do that without you mugs there to embarrass me.”

“Damn right,” Dum Dum huffs. “We’re your family. We should be at your wedding.”

“So we can make an inappropriate speech during the toast,” Gabe adds.

“And get drunk and go home with someone we shouldn’t,” Moty nods.

“And make sure Steve has an escape plan ready if he decides he doesn’t want to be tied to your sorry ass for the rest of his life,” Morita finishes.

Bucky makes a face at them.

They just grin back.

“Steve and I aren’t having a wedding,” Bucky says quietly, shifting on his feet.

“But…?” they all ask at the same time, because they know Bucky like the palms of their hands by now.

Bucky’s smile, when it comes, is wide and sharp and it makes him look as happy as anyone’s ever seen him. He knows it by the stunned looks on his friends’ faces.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that they didn’t know Bucky back when he was a teenager, full of humor and easy grins. War has a way to bring down even the happiest of men. It weighs people down, twists them up inside, dims their spirit. It swallows them whole and spits them out again, most times a shell of who they used to be. In the Howlies’ case, they went to war as men and came out on the other side as wolves.

“D’you remember when I told you about my talk with Nat?”

They might not know a lot about traditional packs and their costumes and dynamics, but every bit of information they learn along the way is shared. Bucky’s conversation with Natasha about courting rituals is no different. It is also one of the most useful pieces of knowledge they’ve gathered — aside from learning how to control themselves and shift into wolves —, if only because it makes sure none of them will end up courting someone they don’t wish to just because they decided to listen to their instincts once in a blue moon.

It might have worked beautifully for Bucky, but it might not for the rest of them.

“ _Oui_ ,” Dernier nods. “Courting?”

“Yup,” Bucky nods, a few strands of hair slipping from his bun and tickling his jaw. He tucks them behind his ear as he watches them all stare back at him, eyes still wide in surprise. But now there’s something else lurking there, something that makes Bucky want to howl and run and be one with his pack.

“You’re—“ Gabe starts, only to stop and open and close his mouth a few times without making any sounds.

Not that he needs to, when Monty goes right ahead and asks, “Bonding with Steve?”

“Asked him about it today,” Bucky tells them, beaming. “He said yes.”

Bucky doesn’t know what he was expecting when he imagined telling his pack about it, but it sure isn’t what he gets. And by that he means being rushed and finding himself on the bottom of a wolf pile, the earth cold and damp under his back. There are legs tangled with his, someone’s hair tickling his nose, an elbow digging into his stomach.

It hurts and it is uncomfortable and it makes Bucky laugh.

“It’s about damn time!”

“Atta boy!”

“ _Félicitations_!”

“Look at our Sarge, all grown up.”

“Does this mean Steve will make us breakfast after all the full moons?”

“Don’t push your luck, Morita,” Bucky wheezes, trying to get his arms from under someone’s leg and stomach. “Now get the fuck off of me.”

“That’s not very nice,” Gabe says flatly.

“You get under all of us and see how much _you_ like it.”

“We’re happy for you,” Dum Dum says, and then proceeds to smack a loud and wet kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “This is how we show our love.”

“Dugan, you dum dum.” Bucky wrinkles his nose. “This is how you smother me to death.”

“You’re liking it,” Monty says, wiggling around a little.

Bucky pulls a sharp intake of breath when that makes Monty’s knee press harder against his side. “Steve won’t like it when I’m dead. In fact, he’ll dislike it so much he’ll probably declaw all of you.”

There are a few seconds of silence before Gabe pipes up, “How about we start running?”

Bucky grins as each one of his friends roll off of him and get to their feet. He even accepts Dernier’s hand and lets himself be pulled up. His entire back is covered with dirt and leaves, from his feet to where his hair is up in a bun.

“We’re gonna have to stop by the lake,” Bucky says, unsuccessfully trying to pick leaves out of his hair.

“Just don’t let anything eat you,” Gabe answers with a small smile. “Wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed before you get a chance to claim Steve.”

Bucky has to close his eyes at that, a shiver running down his spine. “Yeah,” is all he says, voice rough.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know if he’ll make it through the entire run. As much as he can feel the moon’s calling, he can also feel that part of himself that always wants to be around Steve tugging at his heartstrings. He tells the pack as much, who just wave him off and tell him not to worry.

“You go when you need to,” Monty says.

“We’ll still have plenty of moons to run together,” Gabe nods.

“I’ll just try to push you into the poison ivy bushes next time,” Dum Dum shrugs.

Bucky snaps his teeth at him, growling a little. “Who’s leading tonight?”

“I am.” Morita raises a hand. “Will it be okay for us to go back to the cabin once we’re done?”

Bucky scratches his chin, considering. “As long as you don’t try coming upstairs.”

“We’ll stay far _far_ away from your bedroom,” Monty promises.

“Yes,” Dum Dum says, bending down to grab his duffel. He fusses around with the zipper, opening it up and fishing something out of the bag. “I even brought earplugs.”

Bucky groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, _merci_ ,” Dernier answers, clapping Dum Dum on the shoulder.

“You can’t deny those are going to be useful, Bucky.” Morita gives him an amused smile.

“Whatever,” Bucky huffs. “Let’s just go.”

“Eager to get get back to your boy?” Gabe knocks their elbows together.

Bucky feels it again, the tug on the red string of his heart, and says, “You have no idea, pal.”

 

****

 

Full moons always end with Bucky’s mouth full of blood.

They hunt as a pack, and they kill as a pack, and they share the spoils after they’ve run themselves to their wolves’s satisfactions.

This full moon is no different, except for the ways in which it is.

 

****

 

Bucky runs back to the cabin as soon as he’s finished cleaning his muzzle of blood, the coppery taste of it is rich on his tongue. He runs with mindless focus, paws sinking into the earth and breeze ruffling his fur, heart beating strong and fast inside his chest.

Bucky runs and he runs to _Steve_.

He can scent Steve on the way, traces of _bloodearthrain_ in the air the closer Bucky gets to their home. It only spurs him on, makes him gather speed and go as quickly as he can, just a blur in between the darkness  and shadows that the night and the trees  have to offer.

Bucky runs to Steve and Steve is right there waiting for him.

He’s leaning against the porch railing, chin resting on his hand. The front door is open behind him, the light from the entry hall giving Steve an unearthly glow. It makes his hair shine brighter than it is, and it casts shadows over his face. Bucky can still see his expression, though.

Steve is smiling.

Bucky jumps over the railing and lands beside Steve, sticking his muzzle under the hem of Steve’s shirt. It is another one of Bucky’s old sleepshirts, the dark navy fabric faded and well-worn. Steve yelps tries to push him away, fingers digging into Bucky’s coat.

“Your nose is too damn cold, ugh,” Steve complains, backing away.

Bucky still manages to lick a stripe up Steve’s arm before he’s out of reach, letting out a pleased huff when Steve makes a face at him.

“Gross,” Steve says.

They both know he’s lying.

Bucky shifts from wolf to man, the cool air a blessing against his naked skin. He takes the two remaining steps to Steve and leans his head down so he can press their lips together, his arms coming to wrap themselves around Steve’s waist. He tastes blood and spit and lemon and ginger as he licks his way into Steve’s mouth, and growls deep inside his chest.

“You have blood on you,” Steve murmurs into his mouth, teeth nipping at Bucky’s top lip.

Bucky has had blood on him since the forties. And while during the war he might have killed for a decent shower so he could scrub himself clean, now he doesn’t mind. Blood is a part of living and blood is a consequence of living. For him and Steve more than others.

“Inside?” Bucky asks, rubbing their noses together.

Steve wraps his arms more tightly around Bucky’s shoulders and jumps up. Bucky’s hand automatically go to his ass, giving it a squeeze, while Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist. “Are you going to get cleaned up?”

“I will if you really want me to,” Bucky tells him. “But we’ll just get bloody again.”

“‘S alright then,” Steve says, lips brushing against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Just get us inside.”

Bucky is more than happy to oblige, kicking the door shut behind them as he steps inside. He knows the Commandos will be able to get inside when they come back, all of them versed on the art of breaking and entering.

He takes Steve to their bedroom, trading kisses along the way. Steve feels warm and _right_ pressed tightly against Bucky, like that is exactly where he’s meant to be. And Bucky is giddy now that he knows that that is where he’ll be keeping Steve, right there by his side, for as long as they live and breath.

Their room is just as they left it that morning, bed made and missing the decorative pillows Bucky always keeps around. He knows those are down in the living room, Steve not bothering to pick them up when they both know the Commandos will make use of them. The blankets are also gone, the weather too warm for them to be wrapping themselves in anything but each other.

Bucky sets Steve down on the bed, as careful as he can manage. He doesn’t feel as restless as he did in the afternoon, doesn’t feel the urge to run and fight anymore. That’s been taken care of already. It means he feels like he can take his time with Steve, doesn’t have to rush through anything. The urge to fuck is still there, always is when it comes to Steve Rogers, but Bucky isn’t needy with it.

At least not so far.

He knows it’ll get worse the closer they get to each other, the more they touch each other, the more they taste each other. But right now he can content himself with helping Steve get rid of his clothes, pausing to press a kiss to Steve’s scars and tattoos as he goes.

There’s blood on Steve’s hips, Bucky notices. Red smudges from the blood coating Bucky’s fingers that he didn’t manage to clean off. There’s also forest dirt and mud staining their skins. Bucky looks at it. All that’s missing is rain and moss and frost and they would have the whole deal.

“I should probably wash off,” Bucky mutters to himself, staring down at his hands. “This can’t be hygienic.”

“Not if you plan on opening me up yourself, nope,” Steve says, lips curling up.

Bucky’s breath hitches, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing Steve hard on the lips.

He hears Steve laugh behind him, quiet but found.

Bucky washes his hands as quickly as he can, taking a look at himself in the mirror to make sure he didn’t miss any spots. He also wets one of their hand towels, bringing it with him back to the bedroom so he can wipe away the blood on Steve’s skin.

“Thank you,” Steve says when Bucky is finished, taking one of Bucky’s hands and bringing it to his lips. He kisses Bucky’s knuckles, barely-there touches of his mouth that still leave Bucky’s skin tingling.

“Gotta take care of my sweetheart,” Bucky replies, getting a smile from Steve. He throws the wet towel on the floor, telling himself he’ll take care of it the next day.

“You do,” Steve murmurs, pulling Bucky to him. “Always.”

All Bucky knows is that he tries his best. Lucky for him, his best is enough for Steve.

And that’s what he does now, as he kisses and licks and sucks and nips at every part of Steve he can reach. It’s been over a year, and Bucky knows just what to do, knows just how to touch Steve, to leave Steve a quivering mess under him.

All it takes is Bucky sucking marks into Steve’s collarbones and at his pulse point, pinching his nipples until they’re red and sensitive, tracing his nails over Steve’s sides and down his hips. All it takes is Bucky sliding Steve’s dick into his mouth, pinning him down with a hand on his stomach, rubbing a slicked finger lightly over Steve’s hole before slipping it inside.

Steve makes all the best sounds, little gasps and moans and groans of pleasure as Bucky opens him up. Bucky drinks it all up, swallows it with his mouth, kissing Steve until they’re both breathless, lips swollen and bruised.

Bucky knows his eyes shine gold when he lines up his dick and finally presses inside of Steve. The same way he doesn’t have to glance around to know there are little sparks of light flying all over their bedroom.

They always lose a little bit of control when they’re together.

They always give away a little bit of control to each other when they’re together.

Steve told him, all those months ago, that what they had was about give and take. That’s why they work. Steve trusts Bucky to take care of him and Bucky trusts Steve to do the same for him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky groans when he bottoms out, dropping his forehead to rest against Steve’s.

Steve’s hands come up to tangle through Bucky’s hair, nails scratching at his scalp. That only serves to make Bucky shiver, hips rocking once into Steve.

“Move, Buck,” Steve murmurs, bottom lip brushing against Bucky’s. “C’mon.”

And Bucky does, savoring the feel of Steve tight and hot around him as he starts thrusting. They move in tandem, falling into their own perfected rhythm as they fuck. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, his mouth right over the column of Bucky’s throat, his dick hard and leaking between their stomachs.

Bucky takes it back.

 _This_ is paradise on earth.

Steve’s body under him, wrapped around him, holding him together. This is what he wants for as long as he can have it, and even beyond that. He will fight to death and he will fight death if he has to.

In his lifetime, Bucky has been made and unmade time and time again. He never thought one of those times would come by the hands of Steve Rogers.

He can’t say that he minds.

Not when there’s a vice around his heart, squeezing it until he feels like it might explode into a millions pieces in between him and Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes. There’s a heat to his gaze that Bucky recognizes, that Bucky knows must also be showing in his own expression.

He wonders if this is what Steve’s magic feels like, when it builds up and up and up and up and almost sets him ablaze from the inside out.

“Steve, I gotta—“ Bucky tries to say, fangs getting in the way of forming words.

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve breathes out, baring his throat, one hand clutching at Bucky’s hair and the other holding tightly to Bucky’s shoulder. “Do it.”

 

****

 

And this is what he has been saying.

Full moons always end with Bucky’s mouth full of blood.

 

****

 

Bucky doesn’t think before he sinks his teeth into the side of Steve’s neck.

All he can feel is instinct and _mine_ and _claim_ and _yes yes yes_.

All he can feel is _Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve_.

All he can feel is himself being unmade as the taste of Steve’s blood rushes into his mouth, warm and thick and rich.

Something bursts open inside of him, white and bright, and it rushes through his entire body as he he claims Steve in all ways that he can. It leaves him lightheaded and full at the same time, tethered to Steve but like they’re both floating in the air.

For a split second Bucky thinks that might be what’s happening. It wouldn’t be the first time Steve made something like that happen to them while they were together. But then he’s busy lapping at the blood on the side of Steve’s neck and smudged on his collarbone, at the puncture marks his teeth made. He barely registers the wound knitting itself closed, leaving only a silver scar behind.

All he can feel is himself being made whole again as he continues to slide in and out of Steve, one of his hands — now devoid of claws — reaching in between them to wrap itself around Steve’s dick. Bucky strokes him in time with his thrusts, mouth moving from Steve’s bloody neck to Steve’s mouth. Steve moans against his lips, undoubtedly tasting himself on Bucky’s tongue, and kisses him back, rough and deep and wet.

Bucky has always been told to be careful with what he wishes for. Wishes come with consequences and wishes are never quite what someone imagines them to be.

Bucky has been wishing for Steve his entire life. It takes Bucky blood and pain and a world of hurt and horrors to get him, and Steve isn’t quite what Bucky imagined he would be.

He is _better_.

And as Bucky brings them closer and closer to the edge, he can’t help but think of himself as the luckiest guy in the world.

And as they both come with their names on each other’s lips and their hearts tied together by a red string and a golden bond, he can’t help but be _right_.

 

****

 

Steve feels like sunshine and warmth and love in the back of Bucky’s mind.

It is unlike the sense Bucky has of the pack, since the nature of his bond with Steve differs from the one between wolves, but it is still there. Bright and glowing and like the best thing Bucky has ever felt.

“I can feel you,” Steve says, and Bucky can feel his surprise echoing through their connection. “In my head.”

“And what does that tell you?” Bucky asks, face hidden against the side of Steve’s neck.

“That you’re happy,” Steve murmurs, fingers playing with Bucky’s hair. “And that you love me.”

Bucky can’t help but smile, his own emotions an echo of Steve’s own. “Yeah,” Bucky sighs, nuzzling Steve’s neck. “That’s right.”

“You’re also proud of yourself,” Steve continues, tugging a little at Bucky’s hair. “And… _smug_?”

Bucky’s smile widens into a toothy grin, and he lifts his head up to stare down at Steve. He doesn’t need the bond to tell him Steve’s amused. The way Steve’s lips curl up and his eyes glint tell him that just fine.

“Course I am, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him. “Proud to say I got the best guy in the entire world to agree to spend the rest of our lives with me. Hard not to be smug about that.”

Steve laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and a sense of peace and happiness washes over Bucky. It might take him a while to get used to feeling Steve inside his head, but he can’t say he’s unhappy about it.

“You don’t hafta sweet talk me anymore,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s chin. “You already got me.”

“And you got _me_.” Bucky catches Steve’s lips in a slow kiss, both of them still tasting a bit like blood. “And I know I don’t _have to_ , but I still wanna. You gonna complain about it?”

“Nope.” Steve shakes his head, their noses bumping together. “No complaints from me.”

“Good,” Bucky says, giving him a quick kiss. “Now let me up so I can get something to clean us. I know you’re feeling gross already.”

There’s a flash of mild discomfort rushing through their bond, doing its best to remind Bucky that as much as Steve loves it when they get messy, he doesn’t actually like the feeling of cooling come between his legs. Bucky can’t really blame him for it, even though _he_ doesn’t mind being covered in Steve.

Steve unwraps his legs from around Bucky’s waist, and winces a little when Bucky slips out of him. Bucky kisses him quick and sweet, hand rubbing up and down Steve’s thigh in apology.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m—,” Steve stops, jaw going slack and eyes wide as he stares at Bucky.

Bucky tenses as he’s slammed with shock and worry coming through the bond from Steve, leaving him feeling cold and sick.

“What?” Bucky asks, placing a hand over Steve’s heart, feeling it race under his palm. “What is it? Steve?”

“It’s…,” Steve blinks a few times, throat working as he swallows. He doesn’t say anything else, and Bucky can quickly feel himself start to panic.

“C’mon, Stevie, you gotta talk to me.”

“I—,” Steve tries again, shakes his head. He raises a hand and places it just under Bucky’s bicep, fingers curling around his elbow. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky follows Steve’s gaze to his own left arm, and then wishes he hadn’t.

The raven stares up at him.

It tilts its head, beady eyes entirely focused on him, its black wings fluttering every few seconds. It has a particular _look_ in his eyes, beak opening and closing whenever Bucky blinks, as if it is pleased with himself and wants to tell Bucky about it.

“What the _fuck_?”

The loud tone of Bucky’s voice seems to scare the raven, that moves from its place around _Bucky’s_ left arm to rest right under his right side. Bucky gapes at it, mouth opening and closing as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that Steve’s raven tattoo is now _on him_.

“What the _fuck_?” he says again, softer this time. He kneels on the bed in between Steve’s legs and stares down at himself. “How did this happen?”

He pokes at the clear inside right beside the raven’s left wing, watching in fascination and concern as it moves a little closer to Bucky’s hand.

“I don’t know.” Steve frowns, lips turned down. “They’re not supposed to _leave_.”

“Well, _he did_ ,” Bucky says, pointing at the raven. “I didn’t even know I could _get_ a tattoo. Dum Dum tried to after we got back from the war but the ink didn’t take.” Bucky blinks, and then grins to himself. “He’s gonna be so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Bucky,” Steve huffs, more amused than annoyed.

“What?” Bucky shrugs. “He is.”

“You’re not mad,” Steve says, tilting his head to the side. Bucky knows he’s checking the bond, sorting through Bucky’s feelings, which are mostly of shock and confusion and delight.

“Confused as hell about how he got to where he is, but not mad, no,” Bucky replies. The raven seems to sense it, moving from Bucky’s side to perch itself right over Bucky’s heart. Bucky smiles a little at it, fingers tracing down its spine. “I gave you a mark. Only right you got to mark me right back.”

He lifts his head when he hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath, and is reward with the sight of Steve’s flushed skin and dark eyes looking back at him.

“Maybe that’s how and why it happened,” Steve says, sliding his head up Bucky’s stomach until it rests in the middle of his chest. “Even though I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry for that.”

“Can’t say I’m mad about having your mark on me, Stevie.” Bucky drops his forehead to rest against Steve’s. “Quite the opposite of that, really.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, I can feel it.”

Bucky doesn’t doubt he can. It sends a shiver through him, thinking that this is Steve’s way of claiming Bucky for himself.

“So no need to apologize.” Bucky pecks him on the lips. “And at least ravens are friends with wolves. Can you imagine if I got the cat?”

Steve’s cat tattoo is somewhere down his leg, tail wrapped around Steve’s ankle. It doesn’t really like Bucky, making it clear by the way it always narrows its eyes at him when he gets too close.

“The Commandos would never let you live it down.”

“They’d probably call me Buckitty or somethin’ else dumb like that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, baring his still somewhat bloody neck to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes fall to the claiming bite, another scar to join all the others already on Steve’s body. And a part of him might feel guilty about that, but most of him is just glad that it happened. So glad that he ducks his head and mouths at the scar, tongue tracing the soft ridges of it.

“Oh,” Steve says, hand going to Bucky’s hair.

“Yeah?” Bucky mumbles, holding on to Steve’s hips and already working sucking a mark right over the scar.

“We didn’t even clean up,” Steve argues, but still tilts his head to the side to give Bucky more room.

“Why clean up when we’re gonna get dirty again?” Bucky asks, pushing Steve back down on the bed and following after him. “‘S just wastin’ time.”

And Bucky would know about wasting time. He’s already wasted enough of it by not admitting to his feelings for Steve when they first met. He is not doing it again.

“Whatever you say, Buck,” Steve tells him, tugging at Bucky’s hair so he can get to Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky’s lips part as they meet Steve’s, letting Steve lick his way into Bucky’s mouth and taste him as they kiss, slow and deep.

“Love you,” Steve says when he pulls back, mouth red and shiny with spit.

Bucky smiles and answers, “Love you, too.”

And the bond sings and grows between them.

 

****

 

Bucky wakes up the next morning to Steve’s hair in his mouth and his head quiet. Steve’s raven tattoo is resting on Bucky’s left forearm, one of its eyes closed. Bucky can still feel Steve in the back of his mind, although the sense of him is muted as he’s still not awake.

It is the best morning Bucky has had in years, and he is giddy with the knowledge that there will be many more to come.

He places a kiss to Steve’s forehead, inhaling the scent of _them_ as he listens to the snores and heartbeats of the pack in the living room. They’re all asleep, probably will be for a couple more hours before the need for food wakes them all up.

Steve mumbles something against Bucky’s naked chest, shifting a little before quieting down again.

“What was that?” Bucky asks, nuzzling at Steve’s hairline.

“The bond. You’re thinkin’ too loud,” Steve grumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Shuddup.”

Bucky snorts, the sound making the raven tattoo blink both its eyes open and move up to his shoulder.

“And here I was thinkin’ of invitin’ my best guy to come shower with me.”

“Wanna sleep,” Steve says, pouting a little. “No movin’.”

Bucky grins as Steve throws an arm and a leg over him, trying to wrap himself completely around Bucky.

“Not even if I promise to eat you out?”

Steve and the bond go eerily silent before Steve moves, now suddenly wide awake, his cheeks flushed and his bedhair a mess and sticking out everywhere.

“I’m convinced, let’s go.”

Bucky barks out a laugh as Steve practically runs to the bathroom, amusement and joy and love and lust rushing through him as he picks up the dirty towel he used to clean them up last night and follows.

 

****

 

“Now this is what I call grilling,” Sam says, beaming down at the meat Dum Dum is preparing.

Bucky and Steve keep their word about grilling the day after the full moon with the Commandos, going as far as sending out a text to all of their friends to show up. It means that the small patch of woods that Bucky owns is now filled with all of the people he cares about most in the world, all of them laughing and talking and making an effort to keep Dernier away from anything flammable.

He knows Steve feels the same way, their connection an endless loop of happiness and satisfaction.

“Been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive, boy,” Dum Dum tells him, puffing out his chest. “I guarantee this will be the finest food you’ll ever eat.”

“Gotta say you’re wrong about that,” Riley pipes up, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Finest food Sam will ever have is _me_.”

“You know it,” Sam nods, kissing Riley on the lips.

“Oh god,” Bucky groans. “It’s started.”

“You don’t have a leg to stand on,” Sam points a finger at him. “We’ve all seen you and Steve together.”

“And we’ve all _heard_ you and Steve together,” Morita adds, giving Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky glares at them.

They just smile back.

He wonders when he stopped being intimidating.

And when he hears Natasha say from behind him, “Don’t pretend you’re not happy, James,” he has his answer.

“I’m not,” Bucky tells her, ducking his head so she can kiss his cheek.

He couldn’t pretend, not even if he tried. He knows his happiness is showing in everything about himself: from the way he holds himself to the softness around his eyes to the tone of his voice. It is there for all to see.

Just like Steve’s claiming bite scar adorning his neck.

Just like the raven tattoo inked on Bucky’s throat.

“Good,” Natasha replies, her hair red like fire in the afternoon sun, and then turns to Dum Dum, “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my own meat.”

“Is it people?” Bucky blurts out.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

They all notice she doesn’t answer, but they pretend not to.

“No problem,” Dum Dum says. “If it’s meat, I can cook it.”

“If it’s anything else, it might give you food poisoning,” Gabe  says, and when Dum Dum scowls at him he adds, “We all remember the time you tried to make soup.”

Bucky, Morita and Monty wince. They all have differents memories from that night, but they all involve bathroom porcelain.

“How one manages to fuck that up, we’ll never know,” Monty says, shaking his head.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

Bucky turns to the side to see Steve rushing to him, eyes wide in concern. Clint trails after him, holding a cooler in each hand.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, not minding when Steve molds himself to his side and cups Bucky’s cheek with his hand. “Why? Did the wards go off?”

The cabin and some of the woods around them are all warded for protection, courtesy of Steve Rogers, his magic, and a little bit of their blood mixed together. They’re supposed to warn them if there’s danger, and to keep danger _out_.

“What? No,” Steve frowns. “I felt you through the bond.”

“You— Oh,” Bucky says, understanding. “Oh, yeah, no. I’m fine.”

“But you—“

“We were talking about the time Dum Dum gave us food poisoning,” Bucky explains, trying to project calm into their connection. “I’m good,” Bucky says, brushing their lips together. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Steve lets out a relieved breath. “Sorry.”

“‘S alright. It’ll probably take us a while to figure out how this thing really works and to get used to it.”

“Speaking of which,” Sam interrupts them, and when Bucky turns to him it is to see that he is smiling. “Can we say congratulations?”

Bucky feels his own embarrassment mix with Steve as everyone yells and claps and comes up to hug them. The tips of his ears turn pink at the same time Steve’s cheeks turn red, blood rushing to the surface.

“We’re happy for you two, man,” Sam tells them, pulling them both into a hug.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says, voice muffled against Sam’s shirt.

“And I’m liking the tattoo,” Riley says, flicking Bucky in the neck. This upsets the raven, that now moves from his place on Bucky’s throat to rest somewhere under the collar of his shirt.

“Do you think we can only get tattoos that are magical?” Dum Dum asks, a considering look in his eyes.

“You are somewhat magical yourselves,” Natasha tells him. “It stands to logic.”

“Interesting,” Dum Dum, mustache twitching.

Bucky and the other Commandos all share a worried look.

“Aw, meat,” Clint says, and when they glance at him is to see him with a slice of uncooked steak on the grass by his feet.

“Barton,” Natasha hisses through sharp teeth. Everyone stills, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing on end.

“Aw, hell,” Clint says, and a second later he’s a hawk, flying away.

 

****

 

Natasha doesn’t kill him, but she makes him go back to their house and bring more meat for herself.

She also glares at him for the rest of the day. Until he brings out a toy bow and arrow set and shoots an arrow straight into her meat.

“Our fate is our fate,” is all Clint says to her.

Bucky could swear Natasha blushes, but he thinks it’s just the light playing tricks on him.

 

****

 

“I have something for you.”

“You’re ready to pay for our deal,” Natasha says, a faint smile playing at her lips when Bucky nods.

“You said something pretty and useful.” Bucky takes a deep breath, offering Natasha his payment. She takes it, fingers tracing the edges of the small wooden box Bucky made for her. “Open it.”

Natasha glances at him once before doing so, her smile widening a little when a melody starts to play.

“A music box,” Natasha says.

“Where you can keep things of value to you,” Bucky tells her, and then adds, “Or your toothpicks.”

Natasha reaches out a hand and tugs at a strand of Bucky’s hair. “You listened, James,” she says, looking pleased. “And now you understand.”

“Yes,” Bucky nods. “I do. It only took me half a century.”

“It took others a lot longer than that,” Natasha says, closing the lid of the music box. “While some didn’t get a chance to figure out at all.”

Bucky grabs her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you for being my friend.”

“No.” Natasha smiles at him, small but genuine. “Thank _you_.”

Bucky kisses her on the forehead and gets up. Natasha stays sitting on their porch steps, thumb ghosting over the carved indents of бабушка Bucky made on top right side of the lid.

 

****

 

“We should do this more often,” Steve says, leaning against Bucky’s side.

They’re sitting on the floor, their usual pile of throw pillows surrounding them. Their friends are all in similar states, some occupying their living furniture and others making use of Bucky’s decorative pillows and lying on the floor. Bucky guesses this is what happens after everyone eating their weights in meat. They sit down where they can and wait for the feeling like they’re going to explode to pass.

“We should,” Bucky agrees. “Maybe not every weekend, though.”

“Full moons?” Steve asks. “Since half of them will be here already.”

“I like it.”

“Me too,” Sam pipes up from where he’s sprawled half on top of Riley on the couch.

“Me three,” Riley says, raising a hand and giving Sam a high five.

“As long as I can keep bringing my meat,” Natasha replies, licking her lips.

Bucky gives her a thumbs up.

“We should talk to Thor about buying some mead from him,” Clint suggests, twirling a strand of Natasha’s hair between his fingers.

“Now that’s a good man,” Dum Dum nods in approval.

“Here, here,” the other Commandos say in unison.

Bucky turns to Steve, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve just invited a bunch of drunks and certain destruction to our home.”

Steve just grins, wide and bright. “It’s just how we like it.”

Bucky snorts, because Steve is right. He wouldn’t trade this for the world.

Not even when Clint starts singing under his breath, his eyes closed, “ _Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for…_ ”

And Natasha follows with, “ _You heard me saying a prayer for someone I could really care for…_ ”

And Bucky and Steve join them, their voices mingling together as they all sing, “ _And then there suddenly appeared before me the only one my arms will ever hold_.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the story, you might consider [reblogging it on tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/125543294311/only-one-my-arms-will-ever-hold-by-wearingtearing)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "only one my arms will ever hold" by wearing_tearing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578729) by [Lovesfic (me23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/me23/pseuds/Lovesfic)




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